


Stranger Stars

by shaylea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kissing, Louis Tomlinson/OFC (minor), Love, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Pining, Rimming, Romance, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Travel through Africa, descriptions of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 212,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaylea/pseuds/shaylea
Summary: Five years ago, Africa offered a grieving Louis Tomlinson an escape from an England he couldn't tolerate.  Now it's become home as he leads overland tours across the continent with his best friend and driver Zayn Malik.  What's meant to be just another ordinary six-week trip from Cape Town to Nairobi turns into anything but, when future lawyer/current photographer and songwriter Harry Styles and his friends join Louis' latest set of passengers.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 419
Kudos: 778





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is completed. I'm just making some minor edits along the way as I post, which should be two or three times a week. Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.

Day 1 (Louis)

Cape Town, South Africa

It’s summertime, the surf is up, the sun is out, and the last thing Louis Tomlinson wants to do is leave the ocean to go to work. One more wave, he keeps promising himself, just one more good one. This is his favourite thing to do and he won’t get another chance for several months. This is it. 

One more.

He knows he has to go now. There’s less than two hours before his tour introduction meeting starts and he has a host of preparatory work to do.

One more wave.

“Thought you had to go at four,” André, one of his surfer friends, calls when he heads back out to sea. 

But he needs one more. He’s not ready, this tour has come around too soon. His two weeks off somehow vanished into the waves and he doesn’t want to let them go.

“I’ll be fine,” he yells back. Ashanti Lodge is only a ten-minute drive from here, after all. 

The next wave is a disappointment, isn’t worthy of being his last one for months. 

Just one more.

It’s good. 

It’s so good. 

It’s the ultimate of waves and he’s the king of it, and when surfing is like this, he never wants to do anything else. Is it too late to become a pro surfer? He can quit his job leading overland tours across Africa and skip off around the world to compete and never have to leave the ocean again. 

That has to be the last one.

Any more will spoil it.

Trudging out of the water onto the white sand, he shakes the sea out of his hair as he pulls open his wetsuit. It’s too long and he meant to get it cut before the next tour. This tour, damn it. This tour that officially begins with the introductory welcome meeting an hour and a half from now. 

He forgot about the Friday afternoon traffic, which inches through Sea Point around the back of Signal Hill like the fact that he’s now 45 minutes late is of supreme unimportance. It’s enough to drive a man to smoke, but Michelle will kill him if he smokes in her car and it wouldn’t be wonderfully professional to meet his new flock of passengers reeking of cigarettes. Not that he’ll have time to make himself much more presentable than just a hurried shower to get the salt and sand off him. 

He should be good at this routine by now. He’s lost track of how many intro meetings he’s run in the four and a half years he’s been doing this, but it has to be several dozen. He should be better at it. He usually is, to be fair. There’s just something about this trip that’s bugging him. Instead of relaxing during his time off he’s been winding up, everything taking on a strange sense of meaning and gravity. He’ll only be gone for four months. He’s coming home again to Cape Town, he’ll be back by June in time for the best winter surfing and he’s negotiated an entire month off to make the most of it. Today wasn’t his last time in the ocean. Last time in the Atlantic for a while, yeah, but in only five weeks, the warm swells of the Indian Ocean will welcome him to Zanzibar. 

But he won’t get to Zanzibar if he doesn’t get to Ashanti Lodge to start the tour, now, will he?

Finally! 

He has to leave the car down the block and bends over to slip his flipflops on one at a time as he runs up the hill, bag flapping behind him. Please let none of his future passengers be anywhere in sight.

There’s one person on the terrace, but fortunately the guy’s bent over a laptop, and when Louis streaks past in just his swimsuit, all he glimpses is a mass of dark curls.

Matt, his favourite receptionist, bursts out laughing at the sight of him. “What happened to you?”

“Waves. Good ones.” Louis keeps going, knowing Matt will get it. He’s from California and has made Louis burn with envy with his description of growing up on the beach. As he heads for one of the washrooms at the back, he calls over his shoulder, “Would you mind printing out the forms in my folder?”

“Printer’s broken.”

“What?” Louis skids to a halt. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Wish I was. Emily’s taken it in to be fixed.”

“So we have no printing facilities? None at all? Not in this entire lodge?”

“There’s the old one.”

The old one. The old one that ate paper and splotched ink where you didn’t want it and ran out of toner halfway through a page without warning. The one Louis celebrated the demise of two years ago when they triumphantly bought the new one. Good thing no one took him up on his recommendation to hurl the old thing off Table Mountain. 

“I’ll set it up for you,” Matt says apologetically. “Emily showed me where it was in case there was an emergency.”

“This,” Louis declares. “This is an emergency, it’s most definitely an emergency.”

When he comes back after his hasty shower, water dripping all over his clean t-shirt because he has no time to dry his hair, Matt is coaxing the printer through its test page cycle. It’s printing, it’s working, and all Louis has to do is pray that it holds out long enough to print the most important pages he needs for the meeting that now starts in 32 minutes. But people are likely to start arriving a whole lot sooner. Normally he’d already be out there, organising the chairs on the terrace, fetching more if needed—damn, he’s forgotten how many passengers on this trip—and scanning through the booking details, familiarising himself with names so he can quickly assign them to faces and other random important information for the days ahead. 

“Go,” Matt says as the first of Louis’ pages starts its agonisingly slow journey through the printer. “I’ve got this. I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

“You’re a star, mate. Drinks are on me next time. When I’m back.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

As he dashes back to the terrace, Louis fishes his phone out of his denim cutoffs to bring up the email attachment with the list of his passengers. Eighteen. That’s right, not a full load but not an easy run either. He did scan their names earlier, only one’s a vegetarian, that much he remembers from making up his provisions list for tomorrow, and most are from the UK. 

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he grabs two chairs from the lounge; might as well be efficient on this trip back to their assigned meeting place, since eighteen passengers will require some creative sourcing of adequate seating. 

The curly boy is still on the terrace, still engrossed in his computer. Louis hates to have to interrupt him and dispatch him indoors on such a glorious afternoon, especially if he’s as British as his violently red arms suggest. 

“Hi, mate,” he says, stopping on the other side of the table from the boy. 

The boy doesn’t react.

He’s wearing earphones. 

Louis places the chairs down and flutters his fingers across the middle of the table to try and capture his attention visually. “Mate?”

No response.

Louis really doesn’t want to startle him, but at this rate he’ll have to get right up in the guy’s space. He taps the table. Maybe it’ll vibrate. “Uh, mate?”

Nothing.

He’s left with no choice. Leaning right across the table, he waves his hand over the keyboard and the boy leaps up, white plastic chair flying in the opposite direction, curls bouncing like they’re alive and celebrating Louis’ success at capturing his attention. He’s so distracted by them that he misses the first words the guy says.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Wide green eyes blink rapidly beneath the curls. “I said hello?” 

No way did a voice that deep just come out of this ridiculously pretty curly boy. “Hello yourself,” Louis says. He sticks out the same hand he just used to cause mayhem. “I’m Louis.”

“Harry,” the same deep voice replies, the accent definitely British, likely northern. Pushing himself off the wall he’d come to rest against, Harry leans forward to envelop Louis’ hand in his. For its size, it’s surprisingly gentle, but his shake is firm. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

He sounds a lot more genuine than Louis deserves, and what Louis can only describe as a smirk plays around the corners of his pink mouth. Are his lips as sunburned as the rest of him or is he wearing lip gloss? Louis can’t tell. 

“Do you need help with something?” Harry continues. “Did you want to share the table? I can move my stuff over to make room for you.”

Each word comes out as though it’s important, as though it matters to Harry that it gets said. Louis, who habitually blurs his sentences into just a few syllables, can’t relate. “I interrupted you—and sorry, by the way, for making you jump like that, I didn’t mean to but I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

Righting his chair, Harry sits back down on it and rests his elbows on the table, propping his chin on the back of his hands. “You have my full attention now.” 

“All of it?” Louis checks. 

“Every bit.”

“You sure there’s not a bit here and there more concerned with the fact you’ve burned half your skin off and your curls have come loose from your headscarf and you might not have saved your work before someone very rudely gave you a shock?”

Those large hands reach up to the curls and Harry grins ruefully. “There’s no controlling them in this humidity.” He gives them a little pat as if to reassure them that he doesn’t mind. “I meant to get them cut before coming here, but that didn’t end up happening.”

“Same here.”

Harry watches Louis shake the remnants of his shower off his hair. “You might want to check what you washed your hair with,” he says seriously, “if your hair was curly last time you saw it.”

The tension that’s been ratcheting up through Louis all day bursts into a shout of laughter. “Your face,” he gasps when he can talk again. “You honestly looked alarmed.”

Harry still does. “So your hair is straight, then?”

“Been straight all my life.”

The alarm fades back into the familiar smirk. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “Me, not so much.”

“I can see that, Curly.” Louis reaches out to tug one of the curls before belatedly realising this boy is not his property to touch. “Oops, sorry about that. About all of this, really. The funny thing is, I honestly didn’t want to interrupt you. You were so focused on what you were doing, I was in awe.”

“I’m just sorting pictures.” Harry twirls his laptop around to display a folder full of vivid blue photographs of the ocean. “We went to Cape Point yesterday to see the place where the Atlantic and Indian oceans meet, and I wanted to get them sorted so I can finish the pictures of our climb up Table Mountain this evening.”

“You’re a photographer?” Louis flicks up through some of the photographs, since it appears that Harry expects him to explore further. They’re good. Spectacular, in fact. Louis has been to the southern tip of the Cape Peninsula several times and never managed to capture the wild atmosphere of what it’s like to be at the bottom of a continent with nothing but a strip of ocean between you and the Antarctic. Then he registers what Harry said. “That’s not what you saw, by the way.”

“What?” Harry jerks the laptop back, brow furrowing as he scans the folder. “Yes, it is. These are the pictures I took there yesterday afternoon.”

“They may be the pictures you took, but they’re not of the two oceans meeting.”

“They are. The guide showed us. He told us all about how the Atlantic on the west is much colder and wilder, while the Indian Ocean on the eastern side is warmer and a lot more calm.”

“Nope.”

Harry glares at him. “He did.”

“He may have, but he was lying.”

“What?”

“Yeah, sorry, but you haven’t seen the Indian Ocean. Not in Cape Town, at any rate. It’s not here.”

“But he told us—” Harry breaks off. “Maybe you’re the one who’s lying.”

“Or maybe I’m the one who spent the afternoon surfing in the Atlantic Ocean on the east side of the peninsula.”

Harry looks back down at his pictures speculatively. “If I google this, will I find out that you’re having me on?”

“Where’s your trust, Curly?” Louis puts on a hurt expression.

“Apparently I trust too easily. Are you lying to me?”

“I wish I was.” He’d love to admit he was wrong and restore a sense of rightness to this boy’s world, but he can’t. “The two oceans meet at Cape Agulhas, about a hundred miles east of here.”

“A hundred miles away?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“But—really?”

“According to the International Hydrographic Organization.” Louis has had to destroy the fantasies of too many tourists during his time in Cape Town, he knows his facts, and hopes the lying peninsula tour guides get some sort of karmic payback one day for all the misleading they do. “I know it’s nice to think it’s here in Cape Town, and the peninsula creates a magnificent setting for it, but the true meeting place is far less impressive.”

Harry contemplates his revelation. “It’s still the southern most tip of Africa, though, right?”

He’s going to break this boy’s heart for the second time in three minutes. Unable to say the words, Louis pulls his phone out again and calls up his map app. He holds the phone out. “What do you think?”

It’s clearly not. By a long way. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“They shouldn’t say things like that to tourists if they’re not true.”

“I agree.”

“It’s not fair of them. That was a legitimate tour guide. We paid him. He was supposed to tell us the truth.”

“I agree.”

“I hope not all the tour guides in Africa are that shitty.” 

Harry glowers down at Louis’ phone so blackly that Louis is relieved he broke the news through the map app, because otherwise Harry would be glowering at him and that wouldn’t be pleasant at all. But Harry’s talking about tour guides and that’s what Louis is and he only has twenty minutes left to prepare for his meeting. 

“Speaking of,” he says reluctantly, “to return to our original topic, I interrupted your focus on your trip to the very beautiful Cape Peninsula, which is sadly surrounded solely by the Atlantic, because I need to ask if you’d mind moving inside for the next hour or so.”

“Inside?”

“I need this table.”

Harry glances around the terrace. “If you don’t want to share, there’s a little table over there you could use.”

“No, see, I actually need the whole terrace.” Good thing Harry wasn’t someone he wanted to impress, because so far he’s doing a stellar job at achieving the opposite. “You can have it back again by about seven, it’ll still be light out here for another couple hours after that so it won’t be too bad. If you don’t want to go inside, maybe you could take a walk down to the Promenade at the sea front. Yeah? How about that? See a bit more of that Atlantic of yours?”

“I grew up on an island in the Atlantic, thank you,” Harry points out. 

Louis never thought about that before. The sea in England to him meant the English Channel and he’s never associated it with the ocean he loves so much at the bottom of Africa. “Ah, but this is the South Atlantic, mate. It’s a different proposition altogether.”

“Still the Atlantic,” Harry mutters. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t take a walk to your Promenade because I have to be here for a meeting that starts in a few minutes. The guy inside told me it would be out here, so I came to do my pictures here because otherwise, if I’m inside, I might lose track of time and miss it. So I can’t go inside either.”

Harry is here for a meeting that starts in a few minutes? There’s only one meeting happening on the terrace this evening and that’s the one Louis is holding for his new passengers. 

Which means Harry is one of his passengers.

Holy shit. Harry’s coming with him through Africa. 

“That’s brilliant, Harry.” Louis leans across the table to pluck his phone out of Harry’s hand. “Tell me one thing. Where are you headed?”

Harry looks suspicious. “To Nairobi.”

“Even more brilliant. I have wonderful news for you.”

“What news?”

“In that case, I will personally be able to introduce you to the Indian Ocean. I can’t show you where it meets the Atlantic, you’re taking the wrong tour for that, but not only will I show you the Indian Ocean, you’ll be able to swim in it and dive in it and take a boat across it, and you’ll have the most thorough introduction you could hope for. Does that make you feel any better?”

“Harry!” Someone bolts across the terrace and throws himself at Harry. “Harry, you missed out completely! Told ya you should’ve come with us, it was fucking incredible! Sharks, mate, real live sharks! Right there! You’d have shit yourself. I almost did, didn’t I, Liam?”

Another man rounds the wall from the stairs. He’s pale beneath his sunburn. “You made the right call, H. I wish I’d made it with you.”

“Aw, it was so cool,” the first guy enthuses. “You totally missed out.”

“That’s not all I missed out on,” Harry says morosely with a glance at Louis. “Louis here informed me that our guide yesterday lied to us and the two oceans don’t meet at Cape Point. Nor is it the southern tip of Africa.”

“I told you I didn’t think it was,” the second man says. “I told you I remembered it differently on the map, Cape Agulhas or something.”

“According to Louis, you were right.”

He’s never heard his name sound like this, almost reverberating in the rich depths of Harry’s voice. If he’d known it was possible for it to sound so impressive, he might have been more reconciled to it as a kid. Clearly he grew up around the wrong people. 

“Hi, guys.” He sticks out his hand to the man who’d known the true southern tip. “My name’s Louis and I’m guessing you’re going on the trip to Nairobi with Harry?”

“Liam, hi.” Liam’s handshake is brisk and firm. “You guessed right. You too?”

“Niall.” The shark enthusiast bounces Louis’ hand up and down several times. “You ever swum with the sharks here?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Louis says, rescuing his hand. “Can’t say that I have.” 

“You should try it. It’s fucking amazing. Honestly, mate, you’re missing out.”

“Louis is coming too,” Harry tells Liam over Niall’s excitement. “He told me we will get to see the Indian Ocean.”

“In Dar es Salaam,” Liam nods. “When we go to Zanzibar.”

For the first time since Louis blasted into his focused solitude, Harry breaks into a delighted grin. “We’re going to Zanzibar!”

Niall shuts up about the sharks. “We’re going to Zanzibar, we’re going to the Kalahari and the Okavango and the Serengeti.” He holds up an excited finger. “We’ve got to write a new song about the Serengeti, yeah? Or what about the Kalahari. Does anything rise above the Kalahari?”

Liam doesn’t seem to know the answer to this one and Harry looks across at Louis, interrupting his attempt to surreptitiously ease away to fetch more chairs. “Do you know if anything does?”

“Sorry, the Kalahari’s dead flat. The whole of Botswana is, really.”

“We’re not writing about the Kalahari, Niall,” Liam says. “The album’s only inspired by Africa, not about Africa.”

“The album?” Louis edges closer again. 

“Niall’s second album,” Harry says. “He’s a singer.”

Louis scrutinises the man who is now seated on the table, but still managing to bounce up and down. “You’re a singer?”

Niall shrugs. “I sing.”

“He’s released an album and done a very successful tour.” Harry sounds fiercely proud of his friend. “Liam’s his manager.”

“Liam and Harry helped me write my first album,” Niall elaborates, “and now we’re writing the second one. It’s kinda why we came.”

“We wrote the first one in Greece,” Liam adds, “in the islands, and Niall decided he wants this one to reflect Africa, so here we are. None of us have been to Africa before. It sounds like you have?”

This is a first for Louis. On all the tours he’s led up and down this continent, he’s never had a singer writing an album. This is going to be an interesting trip. “Once or twice.” Which reminds him: the meeting. “Sorry, guys, it was lovely to meet you but you’ll have to excuse me a minute. I have to get more chairs.” And find out how successful Matt’s been with the printing. 

“More chairs?” Liam considers the eight chairs now squeezed around the table. “How many more do you want?”

“We’ll need nineteen altogether for the meeting. There are usually a few around inside, they just require a bit of tracking down and I’m running out of time.”

“We’ll help.” Niall hops down from the table. “What are the criteria?”

“Any chair that can easily be carried out here.” Before Louis’ finished his sentence, Liam and Niall have disappeared indoors. 

Harry, moving more slowly, closes his laptop. “So you’re also coming on the trip to Nairobi?” he confirms as he gets to his feet. 

Louis nods. “I suppose I should have mentioned, I’m your tour leader.”

Halfway to the door, Harry swivels back and fixes Louis with intent green eyes. “You’re not going to lie to us, I hope.”

“Harry!” Louis clasps his hands across his heart. “You wound me. Here I’m the one who’s been telling you the truth all afternoon!”

“Just keep on with that,” Harry says darkly as he heads inside. “I don’t trust tour guides any more.”

“Leader,” Louis calls after him. “I’m a tour leader, not a tour guide!”

Leaving Harry and Niall and Liam to sort out the chairs, Louis goes to investigate the status of his printing. The last page is making its laborious way through the printer, and Matt looks victorious. Louis isn’t feeling too bad himself, to be honest. The dread that’s been building for the past two weeks has disappeared and suddenly he’s looking forward to this trip. It will certainly be lively with these three along, and he’ll have to watch himself around Harry and double check every fact, because he doesn’t want to be responsible for putting that betrayed look on Harry’s face again. He’d better pick up the reference books he used to take on his early trips with him, since he certainly won’t have Google at his fingertips for the majority of the journey. They’re somewhere at Michelle’s place. Did he leave them in the bookshelf in the bedroom? He makes a mental note to look for them when he does his packing tonight. See? Good thing he didn’t pack this morning as he’d planned.

*

Twenty minutes later he’s well into the swing of it. All eighteen have turned up, which makes life easier, they’ve all brought their insurance details, and are happily signing what he needs them to sign without argument. 

There’s an older man, an Australian called Michael, who he’ll have to keep an eye on as a potential troublemaker. He’s already proclaimed his dislike of camping (so why come on a six-week camping trip, mate?), his preference for fine dining (good luck with Louis’ cooking then) and disparaged his wife three times (making Harry grow increasing thunderous and Louis is wondering what he might do come a fourth time). The wife seems lovely. She’s currently helping the tour’s youngest participant, an eighteen-year-old gap-year girl, find the appropriate details in her insurance policy to fill in Louis’ form, and she hasn’t stopped smiling once. 

“Right, guys,” he says while he gathers up the final forms, “it’s time for introductions. Over the next few weeks we’re going to become extremely intimate with each other, so let’s kick things off on the right foot. I want to go around the circle and I want each of you to say your name, any nickname you’d like us to use, then tell us a bit about yourself, how you’ve ended up here on this trip, how far you’re going, what you’re most looking forward to. Also, maybe, what you’re planning next, or an interesting fact or two, all right?” 

He scans the eager, expectant faces. Harry is glaring at Michael again for his remark to the eighteen-year-old that if she can’t fill in her own forms, she shouldn’t be travelling by herself. 

“I’ll go first. My name is Louis Tomlinson. I’m twenty-five and I’m your tour leader. I’m from England originally, but I’ve been leading these tours through southern and east Africa for almost five years now, so you’re in safe hands.” He surveys his charges, trying to look capable and reassuring. “One thing I always tell all my tour groups at the start of every trip is a warning that I’m a very tactile person. I know that’s not comfortable for everyone, so if you’re not into that, if you’d rather be exempt, make sure to let me know. I will not hold it against you, I promise, and I will respect all boundaries. That goes for everyone.” He holds eye contact with several people around the circle, one by one. “We travel in abnormally close quarters, there’s no privacy, and things can get fraught. Being aware of each other’s boundaries and a commitment to respect them will go a long way in making this an enjoyable trip for us all. Yeah?”

The majority nod, some a little hesitantly, Harry very emphatically. Michael sits stonily as if he’s above such considerations and Louis sighs to himself. There’s always one. 

“Great. Who’s next? Which direction do you want to go in?”

The sparkly brunette on his left waves her hand. “I’ll go. I’m Yolanda, also known as Yo-yo, or Lanny by my brothers. I’m from Australia, although, as you might guess, my parents were from the Philippines. I’m a flight attendant, but I’m taking a year out to travel the world by road instead of by plane and blogging about it. I’m on this trip to Nairobi and I’m most looking forward to sky diving in Namibia and white water rafting on the Zambezi.”

Ah, an adventure junkie. “Where have you been so far, Yolanda?”

She casually flicks a stray ant off her thigh, exposed by her very short shorts. “I started heading up north from Australia through southeast Asia, spent a month in China and a few weeks in India. After this I’m doing South America, maybe a bit of Central, and if I have time I want to get up to Canada.”

“Sounds great.” He gets a lot like her, partway through a world trip, somewhat jaded after months of exotic sights, and it’s always a challenge to make sure Africa leaves its own distinct mark on their travels. He turns to the sweet-faced blonde beside her, who he guesses is one of the opposite type. “What about you, love?”

She struggles to hold his gaze, turning red with the weight of everyone’s attention on her. “My name is Rachel. I’ve not really travelled much, just to Amsterdam for a hen weekend.”

He was right. “Where are you from?” he asks, as though he doesn’t recognise her strong accent.

“Newcastle.”

“And what brings you to Africa?”

“I’m a travel agent.” She gestures towards the girl on her other side. “We both are.”

Her companion steps in. “We’ve been saving for a year to come on this trip. We sell holidays to people all the time and decided this was the one we most wanted to experience for ourselves. We want to see the animals and, really, just see a different continent. We’re coming with you to Victoria Falls. We’d love to continue to Nairobi but we couldn’t get any more time off work. I’m Nicole, by the way. Never Nic or Nicky, thanks.”

“All right, Nicole. I hope the two of you have a wonderful introduction to Africa.” They both look a little apprehensive, especially Rachel, so he gives them a warm smile and they both smile back. “Next?”

“I’m Duncan.” He’s a big bloke, wide-shouldered, clearly very fit. “From London. I’m a firefighter but I’m taking some time off for a break.”

Next to Duncan is Daniel (“but Danny’s fine”), a former policeman from Liverpool who’s halfway through his own trip around the world and has already spent a month in west Africa, then Carlie, a very confident Canadian graduate travelling with them to Zanzibar, where she’ll leave the trip in order to get her diving qualification before heading to the South Pacific after climbing Mt Kilimanjaro. 

Michael explains that while he’d have preferred a luxury two-week safari, his wife persuaded him to take the six-week overland camping trip to Nairobi instead, and apparently his aim is to make everyone as miserable about it as he is. His friendly wife introduces herself as Vicky, a therapist from Brisbane who longs to see all the African animals and looks forward to discovering the difference between the deserts of Africa and the Australian outback. 

Eighteen-year-old Hayley from Bristol is next. She’s also here for the animals, in her gap year before attending university to study zoology. She’s sweet and a little naive, someone who’ll warrant a careful eye since this is her first trip without her family. 

Nathan is a local South African, a radio DJ who’s just come through a terrible breakup with his boyfriend, he informs the group, and decided last minute that he needed to get away so here he is, travelling with them to Victoria Falls. He grew up around the wild African animals on his uncle’s game ranch so isn’t that excited about seeing them, but assures everyone he has a good eye and can identify them all. That’s good, Louis is always happy to have an animal expert along since he’s still learning the difference between several types of buck and he’s never much use with the birds. 

Marya, beside him, is a PR student from Edinburgh whose face fell at the mention of Nathan’s boyfriend, but she brightens when the guy on her other side, an American named James (“but call me Jim”) confirms that he’s straight while detailing his marvellous financial success at the digital nomad lifestyle as a consultant. “If any of you have any questions,” he announces, “all my expertise is at your disposal. Feel free to come to me for a consultation.” 

Louis has to literally bit his lip to refrain from enquiring as to his fees, but Harry, who’s next, has no such compunction. “Do you charge?” he asks solemnly when Jim eventually falls silent. 

“Do I charge what?” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”

“For what?”

Now Louis is biting his lip to restrain a grin while Harry continues without a flicker, “For these consultations.”

Jim lights up. “Do you want one? I’m telling you, whatever your needs, I have an answer, dude.”

“No, thank you,” Harry says. “I was just checking. So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Charge.”

“Usually, yes, of course, but since we’re all in this together I’ve decided to offer free advice for the duration.”

“Great, great,” Louis says before Harry can take it any further. Is he imagining the glint in Harry’s eyes? “Harry, tell us about yourself.”

“I’m Harry. I’m twenty-two. I used to work as a baker, but I graduated from university in Manchester a few months ago with two degrees, and when I get back I’m going to do my legal practice course so I can become a lawyer.”

That is not what Louis was expecting. What about the songwriting and the photography? “What are you most looking forward to on this trip, Harry?”

“I think I mostly just want to learn about Africa.”

“I can teach you plenty,” Nathan offers. He rakes his eyes over Harry’s long, fit body, clearly liking what he sees. “And don’t worry, I don’t charge either.”

“You’re very kind,” Harry says as if he’s oblivious to Nathan’s innuendo and the frankly lecherous run of his tongue around the circle of his lips as he checks Harry out again, but when Nathan looks away, Harry winks at Louis.

This promises to be a most entertaining trip indeed.

Niall spills the beans about their album-writing plans, and Louis notices several of the girls perk up at the disclosure of his growing fame. He promises to share his first album with those who ask and reveals he most wants to see lions and go skydiving over the desert. Yolanda reaches across to give him a high five, and sits back beaming with her success at having already bonded with their resident celebrity. 

Liam garners interest of his own as Niall’s manager and says that he most wants to see Zanzibar and the Serengeti and is looking forward to bungee jumping over Victoria Falls. Yeah, Louis would love to say the same.

The last three are made up of Rose from Singapore, who’s given this trip to herself as a retirement present and is planning to send videos back to her children and grandchildren at home whenever there’s internet available, and a young German couple who turn out to be professional dancers. Annette has just retired from classical dancing to join the contemporary dance troupe that Rolf belongs to, and they’re taking this trip before their new contracts begin. She is another animal-lover, his sole vegetarian. Rolf doesn’t say much, but apparently he’s along to photograph the animals for Annette. He and Harry should find they have a few things in common.

“Excellent,” Louis says once the introductions are complete. “It sounds like we have a fabulous group as we head off to Victoria Falls and, for some of you, beyond, and I think we’re going to have a lot of fun, yeah? I know you’re all on holiday, but as you’ll have read when you booked this trip, this is a participatory camping trip. I’m dividing you into five groups of either three or four and we’ll rotate through the necessary tasks, with each group getting a day off from duties every fifth day.”

“What kind of tasks?” Yolanda queries. 

Louis lists them on his fingers. “Cooking, washing up, packing the truck in the mornings, and cleaning it out in the evenings. Nothing very arduous or time-consuming. Each person will be responsible for dealing with their own tent and mattress, collecting them from the truck when we arrive at each campsite and returning them in the morning to be packed away.”

Niall raises his hand like he’s in school. “How much cooking do we have to do?”

“Not too much,” Louis reassures him. “I’ll do most of it, but with a big group like this it works better if you help with some of the preparations, chopping vegetables or cutting bread for our lunchtime sandwiches, that kind of thing.”

“I can do that.”

Everyone else murmurs assent, although Louis spots Michael muttering furiously to his wife. Louis’ general practice is to split up friends or couples for the duties groups to encourage people to get to know each other better, and he’s most definitely applying that to Michael and Vicky. He’d better make sure Michael is in a group with other strong personalities or he might bully them into doing everything for him, something Louis has no intention of allowing. 

“Right,” he says with a cheerful smile. “Any questions before we disband for the night?”

“What time are we meeting in the morning?” Danny asks.

“We’ll meet here at the lodge at seven to pack the truck and sort out seating, then at eight you’ll head out on a tour with a local guide to experience some of the townships in the Cape Flats. The tour will include lunch in Gugulethu, then you’ll meet me and your driver, Zayn, in the early afternoon for the drive up towards Namibia. Our first night camping will be in the Cederberg mountains among the vineyards, optional wine tasting available.” All this information is in their trip notes, but Louis has learned that very few people read the notes and prefer to find out the plans day by day from him. “Any other questions?”

Apparently not. 

“Excellent.” It’s a word he knows he overuses, but it works as conditioning to keep people in a positive frame of mind, especially as travel fatigue sets in and tempers fray and the enforced intimacy starts to jar over time. “For those of you staying at the lodge tonight,” which was most of them, “breakfast will be served at six, and I’ll see you all at seven out the front. Have a wonderful evening.”

There’s a general hum of conversation as the group starts to disband. Louis scribbles down some of the basics about his new passengers onto the back of one of his papers before he can forget. Usually he’d have a form especially for this, each name already printed out with nationality and trip length attached, but that was one he sacrificed earlier in the name of efficiency. The nicknames are most important, especially those who don’t want nicknames. He’s learned that people can be very fussy about what they’re called and respecting those desires can go a long way to promoting harmony and happiness, his goal for every trip.

“Louis.”

Oh yeah, he can be very fussy about wanting his name only pronounced in this voice for the rest of his life. He looks up from his paper. “You didn’t say, is Harry short for something?”

“Just Harry.”

“No Harold?”

“No Harold. Not even Harriet.”

Harriet. He fails to contain the grin that elicits. “You sure? I think a Harriet might be hiding behind all those curls.”

“Nah. I’ve checked.” Harry lifts a few of his curls and tries to peer up at them. “Still not. However, I live in hope.”

“Hope of one day a Harriet?”

“You never know.” Harry tucks the curls back into his dark purple scarf so they no longer dangle around his face. “My friends call me H sometimes, though. I forgot to say that earlier. What do your friends call you?”

“Just Louis, pretty much. When I was a kid I preferred them to pronounce it like Lewis, but Louis is quite a common name here in South Africa and it was too hard to keep correcting everyone, so I’ve gone back to Louis.”

“No Louise?”

Louis pretends to inspect the jagged strands of his flattened fringe. “No Louise, no Louisa, not even a Lulubelle.”

“Lulubelle?” Harry’s habitual amused smirk spreads out into a full grin. “I might call you Lulubelle. It suits you.”

“Yeah?” Louis tries to strike a Lulubelle-worthy pose. “You think?”

“I’ll give it a couple of days to make sure, just in case, but yeah, I think you’d do all right as a Lulubelle.”

If either of them looks like a Lulubelle, it’s Harry, with his rosy cheeks and shiny pink lips. That reminds Louis. “I hope you brought a good sunscreen. The African sun is not like it is in England.”

Harry grimaces down at his burned arms. “I forgot to take it with when we climbed Table Mountain this morning. I won’t forget again.”

“There’s some great aloe cream they sell here that helps soothe sunburn. I’ll get you some tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” The appreciation in Harry’s eyes suddenly turns to doubt. “I noticed you’re palming us off on another tour guide for the morning. Is this one I can trust?”

“Definitely. Noah is from Langa, the first township you’ll visit, and I can guarantee he’ll give you accurate information about everything.”

“Why aren’t you coming with us for the tour?”

To tell the truth, Louis’ never felt too comfortable on the township tours. “I have a provision run to make. You want to eat for the next week in the desert, right?”

“Where will we meet you?”

“At Bloubergstrand. It’s a beach on the other side of the bay.” Louis gestures vaguely towards the north. “There’s a great view of Table Mountain from there that you’ll want to photograph.”

“Hey, H.” Liam gives Louis an apologetic look for the interruption. “I’m going for a quick run before we have dinner—Niall wants to check out that Nando’s we saw down in Sea Point. Want to join me?”

Louis whistles. “Climbing a mountain and going for a run on the same day? You boys put me to shame.”

“You spent the afternoon surfing, though,” Harry points out. “I’ve tried surfing. It was very tiring.”

“That’s what happens when you spend half the time falling off your board and swallowing seawater,” Liam says. 

As he speaks, Harry demonstrates a frantic attempt to stay on a surfboard before crashing into the ocean. “I wasn’t very good,” he says, straightening up. “I expect you’re a lot better.”

Louis tries his utmost not to laugh, but Harry’s illustration was just too graphic and he can picture the disaster all too clearly. “Can’t say I’ve ever done that on a surfboard before.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “Most people haven’t.”

“I think it’s fair to say that Harry’s talents lie in other places,” Liam says, patting Harry on the arm. “And he’s certainly not lacking in them.”

Evidently not. Louis wants to know what the two degrees are in, if one of them was in photography or music while the other one focused on the unexpected legal future Harry intends for himself. “How about you, Liam?” 

“He’s definitely better than me,” Harry says. 

Liam nods. “I haven’t had much opportunity, but I’m not too bad. It’s pretty good fun.”

“If we’d met Louis earlier, you could’ve gone with him this afternoon instead of diving with the sharks,” Harry points out. 

“We’ve had such an action-packed schedule since we arrived on Tuesday that I haven’t had a chance to surf. We had a winelands tour on the first day, the trip around the peninsula on the second, and today was Table Mountain and then the sharks for Niall and me. I’m sure I could spend a week here and not do nearly as much as I’d like. Must be such a cool place to live!”

“Pretty different to Doncaster, I can tell you,” Louis agrees. “I’m not here that much, only in between tours, but it’s definitely special. The surfing’s best in the winter, though, so if you ever get a chance to come back, that’s the time to come.”

Liam’s smile is genuine. “I’ll remember that.”

“Are you heading somewhere now,” Harry asks, “or would you like to join us for dinner later?” 

That’s another first for Louis. None of his passengers have ever invited him for dinner before. “Ah, sorry. Thanks for asking, but I’m—I usually have dinner with my girlfriend the night before leaving.” 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, okay. Of course.”

“It can’t be easy being separated for such long periods,” Liam says, breaking the awkward silence that falls when Harry stops speaking. “She must be a really understanding girlfriend.”

Louis nods as he gathers up his papers. “She works for Southern Skies too, although she’s based in our office here in Cape Town.” He stands. “Have a great run.” 

“Thanks. Matt recommended the Promenade so we’re going to check it out.”

Harry’s head whips up at the mention of the Promenade and his eyes dart back to Louis’. “I’ll just go change my shoes,” he says. “See you tomorrow, Louis.”

“See you guys. Remember, bright and early if you want to grab a good seat in the truck.” Louis heads for the stairs down to the road. “Say goodbye to the Atlantic for me.”

Harry’s face scrunches up and the last thing Louis sees is the flicker of his tongue cheekily poking out at Louis’ reference back to their earlier conversation.

*

Dinner is a tense affair. It often is, the night before Louis leaves. He never knows what to say because any random comment could accidentally set off an emotional landmine. Michelle understands his job, her own best friend used to be a tour leader, and she’s the one who got him the job in the first place, but that doesn’t make the reality any easier to bear that he leaves for several months at a time. 

“This is really good,” he ventures, tapping his fork on his roast chicken. 

She gives him a wan smile. “I wanted to make you something you won’t get to have while you’re away.”

“And it’s one of my favourites. Thanks, love.”

She’s always loved to cook for him, even back in Manchester where they met when she was an exchange student. She’d had her own flat that he’d go back to with her any chance he got. In those days he’d never have imagined he’d soon be cooking for dozens of people every day; he could barely feed himself. 

“How did your meeting go?” she asks a few minutes later, just as he’s polishing off the rest of his chicken. “Any interesting passengers for this trip?”

“A few, yeah.” Harry and Niall and Liam are probably finishing off their own chicken round about now, only theirs will have been flame-grilled. He wonders absently if Harry likes peri-peri sauce. “There’s an Australian who’ll be a bit of trouble. He wants to be on a luxury safari and is only here because of his wife. They’ve booked through to Nairobi but I have my doubts whether they’ll make it the whole way.”

“Oh yes, I know him.” Michelle reaches for her wine, nodding. “He’s already phoned the office five separate times to make objections about things. A shame for you he ended up on your trip. We should get a pool going on how long he’ll last.” 

“I don’t think he’ll stay past Victoria Falls.”

“You think he’ll make it that far?”

“Don’t think he’s the type that gives up easily.”

“I’m saying the Okavango. He’ll see that international airport in Maun and make a run for it.”

“Before or after?” Louis clarifies.

“After. Who’d want to miss out on the Okavango?”

He knows that Michelle went on one of Lauren’s tours to Vic Falls once—it wasn’t seen as professional for her to join one of Louis’, which he understands—and she got to experience the Okavango, to glide through its peaceful waters on the mokoros and wild camp overnight on a remote island amongst the animals. Since that’s a paid-for extra with a local guide, he’s never done that, but he’s glad she had the opportunity since there’s so much else she misses out on, trapped in Cape Town in the office. 

“I’ll put you down for that then,” he says. “I’ll ask Zayn for his opinion after the first night.”

During their early years together they used to make a big deal of his final night before a trip, making it special and romantic. When did that fade into this awkward business of struggling to make conversation? 

When did he turn into such a rubbish boyfriend?

It’s really not helpful to realise that the night before he goes away for four months. 

What’s he been doing for the past two weeks? To his shame, all he really remembers are the waves. Michelle had the flu when he first got back and she’s only just recovered now, but that’s no excuse. He should have been cooking for her, pampering her—although she’s not really that kind of person. If he cooks at home she says she feels superfluous, so he makes sure he never does, which isn’t exactly a hardship. He’d do the housecleaning but she always does it again after he’s done it, so he rarely bothers. For the first time, it dawns on him that he’s been a bit complacent and it isn’t fair on Michelle. 

He must do better. 

Maybe he can pay for her to fly up to join him in Victoria Falls when he’ll have a few days off halfway through the trip, give her a bit of a holiday and a chance for them to reconnect again. A mental review of his bank balance isn’t promising, but he has an emergency credit card and fixing his relationship seems like a worthwhile cause. 

“I was thinking—” he begins, just as she says his name.

“Sorry,” she says.

“No, I’m sorry. You go ahead.”

“I just—no,” she shakes her head and reaches again for her wine. “Never mind. What were you going to say?”

A panicked thought slams through him. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Michelle raises her glass. “Would I be drinking this if I was? For heaven’s sake, Louis.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Good thing I’m not, though, if that’s your attitude.”

Shit. “That’s not what I meant. It seemed like you wanted to tell me something and I just panicked. I don’t want you to be pregnant while I’m half a continent away.” He’s not ready for her to get pregnant at all, but she’s going to a baby shower tomorrow and what if she’s getting broody? She’s a year older than him and that’s very possible. How did time pass so quickly?

“I’m not pregnant.”

This is so not the time for this conversation. “I wondered if you’d like—”

“I noticed you haven’t packed yet,” she speaks over him. “Don’t worry about helping me clean up. I’ll take care of it. You go sort yourself out for tomorrow.”

“Michelle.”

“Can we not?” she says wearily. “Not now. I’m still—I’m not up to it. Not tonight.”

“But I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“We’ll catch up along the way like we always do. You’re stressed, I’m still recovering. This isn’t the time.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Her smile used to sparkle more. That’s something for him to focus on restoring. “I fixed your red hoodie for you. You can’t even see the rip now. Don’t forget to grab it from the laundry.”

“Thanks.” He reaches for her hand as she starts to clear the table. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, ‘Chelle.”

“Me neither.” She squeezes his hand, then lets it go. “Now go pack. I’m not doing that for you.”

Packing doesn't require much concentration with so much practice under his belt. He tosses in his usual travel gear, fetches the fluffy blanket that keeps him far warmer in the desert than constricting sleeping bags would, grabs the bag of toiletries that he never bothered unpacking when he got home a fortnight ago, and he's on his way to bed when he remembers the curly boy and his requirement for accurate information. The books aren't easy to track down, but he manages to find them all and slips them into the side of his bag. Just in case. He never wants to see those intent green eyes disappointed in him. He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

It's going to be a great trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry struggles to come to terms with Africa. Louis helps him find himself.

**Day 2 - Harry**

**Cape Town to Cederberg Mountains, South Africa**

“These are the dormitory-style barracks in Langa where the men used to live.” 

They’re deep in the vast expanse known as the Cape Flats, on the far side of Table Mountain, in the centre of one of the sprawling townships that cover the desolate plain. Unlike the smarter suburbs of Cape Town, the townships, Harry has discovered, are where the apartheid-era government forced the non-white people into very basic housing, both formal buildings and informal shacks. Today, the area is largely poverty-stricken and crime-ridden, although Noah-the-trustworthy-tour-guide assures them that the community is banding together in a war on both. These tours to introduce foreigners to life in the slum-like townships are one of their strategies.

Noah leads their group through a street of uniform rectangular blocks of bare brick, then knocks on one of the open doors. “The men lived here,” he continues his account of the way the workers had been brought in to provide labour for white Cape Town, “four to each small cement room, until their families joined them and it became fifteen or twenty per room. Let’s go inside and have a look.”

To Harry’s horror, Noah leads them into the middle of somebody’s home. A young woman boils water for tea on a tiny stove while nursing a baby, two children are getting dressed in the centre of the room, while in the corner an older woman brushes her teeth and spits into a mug, watching them through narrowed eyes.

They’ve just invaded someone’s home. This can’t be right. They shouldn’t be here, surely.

But Noah stands casually between the dressing children, smiling broadly as he continues his description of what life was like in the past for the native workers compared to what it’s like now, which doesn’t seem much improved. 

“What do you think of this tour?” Liam sidles up to where Harry is trying to melt into the wall. “I don’t want to film anything. Are you taking any pictures?”

“No!” Harry wishes he could hide his camera, wishes he could hide his entire body. “This can’t be okay.”

“It’s not.” 

A teenage girl wanders in and takes the baby from the mother, who hands a mug of tea to the older woman and then starts making her own. None of them bar the old woman look at the invaders, they just continue about their daily life. This isn’t a show put on for tourists to gawk at, though. It’s their real lives.

No longer caring what it looks like, Harry pushes his way out of the sweltering building. At least these buildings were made of brick. At the end of the little dirt lane he can see the start of the poorer side of the township, clusters of tiny shacks made from bits of wood and ripped cardboard. If the next part of this tour is to invade one of the shacks, Harry’s done.

“You should stay with the group.”

He turns to find Nathan has followed him out. “I didn’t want to be in there. I’m not going far.”

“It’s not safe to be out here alone.”

Harry knows. At the start of the tour, Noah impressed upon them the importance of sticking together. Noah comes from Langa, grew up here, and Harry doesn’t doubt his concern. “I couldn’t stay in there,” he says. “I’ll just wait right here by the door.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have townships like this in England?” Instead of returning inside, Nathan leans back against the outside wall and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” Warily, Harry checks out the lane again before easing a few steps away. 

“I’ve never been in a township before. There are plenty surrounding Jo’burg, where I’m from, but everyone knows better than to enter them. I’m surprised this is part of the Southern Skies tour.”

Is this why tour leader Louis seemed so cagey when talking about this tour last night? Harry thought maybe he just felt uncomfortable about foisting them off onto another guide, but maybe he knew what to expect and that’s why he avoids it. He could have warned Harry. Harry didn’t come to Africa to view the inhabitants like exhibits in a zoo. 

“Noah said the tourists bring a lot of much-needed cash into the district.” Harry keeps reminding himself that Noah is a local and seems to be loved and respected by his community, judging by the warm greetings sent his way as he’s led them around Langa this morning. 

“Cash like that fancy camera of yours. I wouldn’t keep it on such open display if I were you.”

Potential robbery isn’t the reason Harry wants to hide it. How could Louis so cheerfully dispatch them here this morning? Harry’s going to have a word with him. 

“Thank fuck that’s over.” Niall pushes between Harry and Nathan to collapse against the wall as the rest of the tour group file out of the building behind him. “I’m never doing this again.”

“We are about to pass a street market,” Noah enthuses as he takes up the lead and heads down the dirt lane. “Please feel free to shop at your leisure. All the money goes straight back into the community. We are currently raising money to supply more water for the shanty town you can see over there, so the people further in don’t have to carry their water so far.”

“Carry their water?” Liam mutters. “You can see Table Mountain from here and Cape Town didn’t seem any different to a first-world city. How can we be so close and the people here don’t have running water in their homes?”

Sure enough, at the bottom of the lane opposite the three tables set out with local craftwork is a tap set in the ground. A group of women, using a collection of big plastic tubs and smaller buckets, are doing piles of laundry out there in the open on the muddy dirt. Harry has only seen things like this in documentaries. 

At least he can contribute by buying something. The craftwork is very different to what he’s seen before, little carved animals, intricate beadwork bags, wooden masks and brightly coloured necklaces and bangles, none of it with price tags. Harry’s heart sinks. The last thing he wants to do is haggle with these people. 

Niall picks up one of the fierce masks and holds it over his face. “Does this suit me? I want this.”

Harry doesn’t want anything for himself, but he figures he can find a gift for his mother here. She will appreciate the story of the township and being a part of helping with the water supply. He shuffles over to the table with the necklaces, looking for one with colours he thinks she’ll like. “How much?” he asks the woman behind the table. 

“Sixty rand,” she says.

That’s barely three pounds, and he’d happily pay twenty for it. Would it be an insult to give her more? Where is Louis when he needs him? Fiddling in his wallet, he comes up with a one hundred rand note. “Keep the change,” he says in a rush. 

“But—”

“No, please. Keep it. It’s fine.” Does she look insulted? She’s smiling happily at him, but is that because he’s a tourist and she has to? 

“Hello.” A soft little hand taps at his thigh. “Hello.”

Harry looks down to find a cute little girl in a bright yellow dress beaming up at him. “Hello.”

“Flower for you,” she says, holding it out. It’s red and pretty, nothing he’s seen before. 

“For me?” 

“Flower for you,” she repeats, holding it higher. 

Uncertainly he takes it. Her grin brightens as he slips it into his curls. 

“Pretty!” She claps her hands at him. 

Is he supposed to pay her for it? 

“Do you want to take her picture?” the woman who sold him the necklace asks. 

Wouldn’t that be weird? What’s going on here? Where is Louis to explain the truths of this alternate universe Harry has entered? Right now their tour leader with the bright eyes and apologetic truth-telling feels like the only person Harry can trust to make sense of all of this and he’s not here. 

The woman gestures at his camera. “If you take her picture, you can send it to me.”

Oh. She wants a picture and this is the only way she can get one?

“Is she your daughter?” Harry asks. 

The woman nods proudly.

“What’s her name?”

“Malindi.”

Harry grins down at Malindi. “Hi, Malindi.”

She points at his flower. “Pretty!” 

“Very pretty,” he agrees before turning back to her mother. “Would you like to be in the picture with her?”

She lights up and crouches behind her daughter, arms wrapped around her. Malindi snuggles into her mother’s arms, laughing delightedly, and Harry snaps several pictures so he can choose the best one to send them. 

Afterwards, the mother pulls out a neatly cut scrap of paper with a name and address printed on it in blue pen. “Many people say they will send the photo, but they do not.” 

He takes the precious scrap and tucks it into his camera case, letting her see the care he’s taking. “I will send it to you and Malindi, I promise.”

Her smile is just as polite as it was earlier, but he feels it’s a little warmer this time, a little more genuine. As soon as he gets back to the minibus, he’ll photograph the address with his phone to ensure that he can’t lose it. Whatever else happens on this trip, Malindi and her mother will receive their picture. 

The group is already moving on and he rushes to catch up to Niall and Liam. “Where are we going now?”

“Into the shanty town,” Niall says, looking cheerier than before, “to something called a shebeen.”

“It’s a kind of local pub,” Liam adds. “But I think they make their own stuff, like moonshine. Noah says we’ll all get to try some.”

A pub sounds more tolerable than a private home, but it’s still a little uncomfortable when they enter the single-room establishment and are directed to sit along the rough planks lining walls that are made of flattened cardboard boxes and strips of rusty corrugated iron. Several locals sit on upturned white buckets at the back, and Noah purchases from them a litre of their home-brewed beer in a large metal pail, which makes its way around the circle for each person to sip from. 

“You have mine,” Harry tells Niall when Niall passes the pail along to him. 

“Don’t mind if I do. It’s not half bad, Harry.”

Brunch is to be held in another township called Gugulethu. As he parks the minibus, Noah warns them, for safety reasons, to go straight into the restaurant without deviating. The restaurant, famous in these parts apparently, consists of tables of plywood lashed together beneath a tin roof, the walls made of flapping canvas. 

“Better than cardboard boxes,” Liam whispers. “D’you think I can film here?”

Given that brunch is to be their first exposure to African traditional food, Harry nods. “Film Niall’s reaction to it.” It’s Niall’s YouTube channel that Liam’s filming for, after all, so he’s the one the viewers will be most interested in. 

When the food comes, it looks like mash with barbecued chicken, a spicy sauce on the side. Niall tucks into the mash with delight only to immediately spit it out. “Fuck, what is this?”

“It’s called pap,” Nathan says from across the table. “It’s made from corn. It’s a staple food across southern Africa, although it goes by different names in different countries.”

Harry nibbles at a forkful of the fluffy white stuff. Now that he’s not expecting it to be potato, the taste isn’t too bad. Niall’s not so convinced. Neither are the two women from Newcastle on Niall’s other side. Raising his camera, Harry snaps a picture of them as they scrutinise their plates because they look exactly the way he’s felt all morning: out of his depth and on edge and deeply, deeply uncertain. 

The dark-haired one, Nicole, gives him a tremulous smile as he puts his camera away. “I knew my first experience outside of England would be a challenge.”

“I just hope the rest of the trip isn’t this bad,” her friend says. 

“This is nothing compared to what lies ahead,” the rude Australian man butts in. “You shouldn’t come to Africa if you can’t handle it, girls.”

“Not a girl, thank you,” Nicole snaps. 

Michael rolls his eyes and Harry sends her a thumbs up. She grins back. 

*

Two hours later, the minibus rolls into a parking lot above an endless white beach. Harry’s peering out the window, trying not to miss any of their journey, but most of the others nodded off during the long trip north from the townships across the suburbs of Cape Town and he’s struggling not to join them. 

The sight of the enormous white truck they left their bags in this morning jerks him out of his sleepiness. Finally.

As Harry steps out of the minibus, Louis appears around the back of the truck. 

“Good afternoon!” he yells as they all dash towards him. He holds his arms out to greet them and several people tumble into them at once. He hands out hugs as casually as he handed out his forms last night, and as he cuddles Rachel, his eyes meet Harry’s over her blonde hair. “Hi,” he mouths. 

Harry trips over his shoelaces. 

By the time he’s recovered, everyone has rounded the truck. When Harry joins them, Louis is pointing to the magnificent view of Table Mountain with the city of Cape Town spread out beneath it on the other side of the vivid blue bay. “You have twenty minutes for photo ops and a last play on the beach,” he’s saying, “while I finish sorting out the provisions, but I mean twenty. If you’re not back by one-thirty, we’re leaving without you. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of acknowledgements. 

“Right.” Louis claps his hands. “Off you go and make the most of it.”

Niall and Liam follow the crowd through the powdery white sand towards the water, Niall trying to turn cartwheels while Liam films him. Harry should be with them, documenting the process in photographs and trying to find the best way to frame the city and mountain behind them. Instead he lingers, leaning against the truck and fiddling with his camera case. 

Louis steps down off the back of the truck, heading for his large pile of shopping bags. “Harry! The mountain’s not going anywhere, but we will be.” He gestures expectantly down towards the beach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asks.

“That we’re leaving Cape Town? I thought it was implied by the fact we’re driving three hundred kilometres north this afternoon.”

“About the township. What the tour would be like.”

“Ah.”

Harry snaps and resnaps the latch of his case. “Some warning would have been nice.”

“I’m sorry.” Louis sets down the armful of bread loaves he’s gathered and comes over to him. “I know it’s a harsh introduction to some of the realities of Africa—”

“We went right inside their home!” Harry bursts out. “Noah seemed to think it was fine, but it felt wrong, Louis. Invasive. Rude. How is that okay for us rich, white tourists to come in there and gawk at them? They were literally getting dressed in front of us!”

Louis winces. “Yeah.”

“It wasn’t right.”

“This is why I’m not the guide for something like a township tour, why we only do it with locals who understand the culture and the needs of their own people. And the money goes straight to the community—”

“They have no water. Just a tap on the very edge, in full view of everyone. How can they have no water?”

“The shanty town isn’t legally allowed to be there, so it’s not supplied with utilities.”

“But it’s been there for years.”

“This is Africa, mate.” Louis pats his forearm with gentle fingers. “And I’m afraid that will be my answer to a lot of questions as we head further north. We can’t judge things by UK standards.”

“What about by people standards?” Harry mutters. “They’re people just like us.” He surges away from the side of the truck, blood pounding through his body so hard he can feel it. “There was a woman I bought a necklace from—was I really meant to barter with her, Louis? Was I meant to pretend that three pounds was extortionate for a really pretty necklace when for her that amount of money means so much more than it does to me? Was I rude to give her more and tell her to keep the change?”

Louis smiles, shaking her head. “That was nice of you, Harry.”

“It wasn’t condescending? I didn’t know what the rules were and you weren’t there to explain. I didn’t want to be offensive.”

“I tell people to pay what they’re willing to. Yes, there’s usually a barter system in operation throughout Africa, but it’s your choice. Some people will try to swindle you, sure, same as anywhere, but for many, selling stuff to foreign tourists is their sole livelihood. So pay whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

That’s good to know. The last thing Harry wants to do is barge into someone else’s country and offend them. “The woman, though. Her daughter gave me a flower and then she asked if I’d take a picture of her. It’s the only way she can get pictures of her kid, Louis, and she said most tourists don’t even send her the picture afterwards.”

“But you will?”

“Of course I will! How can anybody not? That’s like—like stealing.”

“Good for you.” Louis smiles again. He should be overwhelmed by the harsh light of the summer sun, endless white sand gleaming behind him, but instead he seems to glow with his own light that rivals the sunshine around him. Harry noticed that last night during their meeting, the way Louis sparkled and shimmered, but he figured it was some kind of illusion, a hallucination brought about by his sunstroke from climbing Table Mountain in midsummer heat that morning.

“I’m glad they get the money from our tour,” he says, focusing on the one positive aspect of the morning. “That’s something.”

“It is. Now, let me finish putting these provisions away while you go down there to take your own version of the most photographed view in Cape Town. I want to see what you achieve, Harry, and I expect to be impressed.”

*

Liam tried to be very strategic when they picked their seats this morning. Louis gave them a quick introduction to their overland truck before Noah arrived, informing them that the trucks of Southern Skies are all named _Friend_ in different African languages. The truck taking them to Nairobi is known as Shamwari, the translation coming from the Shona language of Zimbabwe. 

Most of the seating is ordinary bus-style seating, two each side of the aisle, all facing forward, but at the back are two tables with seats facing front and back. The majority of their fellow passengers rushed to claim the ordinary seats and, much to Liam’s delight, he, Harry and Niall were able to claim one of the tables so all three of them can sit together, perfect for working on songs once they stop having so many adventures and get to work. 

Harry doesn’t mind being the one travelling backwards. He still gets to see the same view out the window of Africa passing them by. Since Liam chose the table on the side of the truck that will face east for the majority of their two-month trip north, they get afternoon shade, but sweat still pours down Harry’s back as the hours drag by. The scenery doesn’t change. The land is flat, mostly a dull brown, with an unbroken mountain range dark against the sky to the east, which, according to Liam’s map, seems to be the Winterhoek mountains. Harry wonders what the land looks like in the winter. Does it get any greener? Is all this brown part of the karoo, which is the semi-desert scrubland that covers much of South Africa? 

Why is Louis cooped up in the cab of the truck with his mysterious driver, who lurked out of sight both this morning and at Bloubergstrand, instead of back here with the rest of them so he can tell them what they’re seeing? There’s a little door at the front of the truck that Louis scrambled through this morning into the cab, so he obviously has access to them for when he needs it. 

Almost everyone is sleeping. Niall has his head down on the table, pillowed on his arms. Liam’s eyes are open, but he has his earbuds in, and Harry can tell from the crinkle of his brow that he’s focused on the music coming from his phone. Harry doesn’t intend to listen to much music on this trip. He usually would, usually can’t be parted from his earbuds, but he doesn’t want his mind tainted with other sounds while he works on Niall’s album. It has to sound unique, has to reflect what they’re going through, their experience of travelling through Africa, so he wants to saturate all his senses in his surroundings. 

He also needs to use this time to think. By the time they reach Nairobi he wants to be certain, one hundred percent, that doing the law course is the right step for his future. That he’s tough enough for law. 

If this morning in the township was anything to go by, his family’s suggestions that maybe he isn’t, that maybe he should find something easier, something friendlier, to do instead, might have some substance.

It’s not what he wants, though. He wants to be strong enough. Hard enough. Like their tour leader. Louis looks like he can handle anything, like nothing would ever disconcert him or be too much for him. Maybe Harry should take advantage of this journey to learn from him.

*

The Winterhoek mountains change to the Cederberg and come a whole lot closer, so by the time their invisible driver brings the lumbering truck to a halt, they’re nestled in a long narrow valley covered in vineyards. 

Louis’ head pokes through the little door at the front. “Wake up, everybody,” he yells into the sudden quiet as the engine turns off, “and welcome to our first campsite of the trip.”

Harry scoots around on his seat so he can see Louis. Louis’ brown hair stands on end, a little bit like a hedgehog, and he’s rubbing his eyes as though he’s been sleeping too. He looks cute and tiny at the front of the imposing truck and it’s hard to believe that he’s the one they’re all relying on to escort them safely through the wilds of the southern half of Africa. 

“Before we do anything else, we’ll have some tent lessons. Pay attention, because after today you’re on your own with your tents. I expect you all to become instant experts, yeah? Don’t worry, they’re really easy. The tents are all stored in the bottom of the truck, Zayn’s getting them out now, so once you disembark, come around to the side and he’ll hand them out. Make a note of the number you get, because you’ll keep that tent for the duration. We’ll put them up over there,” he indicates the pretty grassy patch between grapevines, “so find a spot and get everything out of the storage bag so I can come around and show you how to put them up. I won’t prescribe who you share with. They’re two-people tents, and obviously friends and couples are welcome to room together.”

“Tent together,” Harry corrects beneath his breath.

“What’s that, Harold?”

Harry makes sure his expression is severe. “They’re not rooms, Louis, they’re tents.”

Louis grins. “My mistake. Friends and couples are welcome to tent together.” He glances back at Harry. “Better?”

Harry should correct him about his name too, but Louis already knows perfectly well what he’s called and if he’s not careful Louis might start calling him Harriet. No matter. If he does, Harry hasn’t forgotten Lulubelle. He nods grandly. “Much better. Carry on.”

Louis continues to explain that the people travelling on their own are welcome to pick who they want to “tent” with, and that since there are only eighteen of them instead of the full capacity load of twenty-two, a few people might end up with their own tents, if they so desire. “You’re all adults so I’m leaving it up to you,” he finishes. “Once tent lessons are mastered, you can head over to the bar and sign up for a wine-tasting session or hang out by the pool. Dinner is catered by our kind hosts tonight, so Team A, you’re off the hook for helping with cooking.”

“Yes!” Niall exclaims. 

“Team B, you’ll still be expected to help with the washing up, though.”

Harry shrugs, unbothered.

“Team C, after your tents are up, I want you back here to clean out the truck. It won’t be too bad today because we were in the city, but I’ll show you how to sweep it out and empty the bin at the back, that kind of thing. Nothing strenuous, but we’ll all be a lot happier for it, especially once we’re deep in the desert and sand gets everywhere. Team D, you’re off today as well since the truck was already packed this morning.” Liam grins as Louis finishes, “And Team E, you get to start with your day off.”

Louis disappears back into the cab as everyone starts moving. After four solid hours of driving, Harry’s legs feel shaky, so he stays in his seat, letting the others file off past him. It’s going to take some getting used to, since there are days of up to twelve hours of driving ahead. How does Louis do it, year after year? Does he enjoy it, being driven up and down Africa like this? 

“H, where are you?” Niall was the first one off the truck and he comes bounding back. “Liam and I got our tent, you need to come get yours.”

“I’m coming.” Harry jumps down the final steep step and bends over, stretching out his back. 

“You doing okay?” Niall knows he has the odd problem with his back, and he watches Harry, concerned.

“I’m fine.” He just needs to make sure he does regular stretching. He straightens up. “All good. Go pick a great spot for us.”

Niall grins. “Liam’s already on that. See you there.”

Most people are already hauling the bags with their tents and poles across onto the thick grass, but there’s still a bit of a queue around the open lower section of the truck where a slender man with short black hair is pulling the remaining bags out, his loose white vest showing off arms covered in elaborate tattoos. 

Looks like the firefighter and ex-policeman have decided to tent together, but as they head off together, the firefighter—Duncan, if Harry remembers right—pauses beside the older woman from Singapore, who is trying to figure out how to manage both her bags by herself. “I’ll take that for you,” he says, before Harry is able to offer. “We’ll help you put it up, too. Only fair, since there’s two of us and one of you.”

Harry likes Duncan.

“I’ve never camped before.” The ballerina approaches him, living up to her profession as she pulls one of her legs up behind her, stretching out much like he did. “I’m quite excited.”

“I did a bit when I was a kid. Annette, right?”

She nods. “And you’re Harry, the future lawyer?”

“That’s me.” He hopes.

“And photographer and songwriter too?”

“Sometimes.”

She switches legs. “I’m not much of a photographer, but my boyfriend, Rolf, he has been learning. Maybe you can give him some tips.”

Rolf steps up to them, managing both tent and poles easily. “I would appreciate that, Harry.”

“Rolf did some online tutorials, but they’re not the same as the real experience. On the beach earlier you looked like you knew what you were doing with lenses and framing and lighting.”

“I’m no expert, but I’d be happy to share what I know.” 

She smiles at him and brings her leg back down. “Thank you.”

People are nice, he thinks as he watches them head for the grass. He didn’t know what to expect of the others who’d be on this trip, but most of them seem lovely.

A low whistle comes from behind him. “Lifting women for a living definitely works for him.”

Turning, he finds Nathan making no secret of ogling Rolf as he walks away. 

“Just check that out.”

“He seems nice,” Harry says. 

“He’s fit,” Nathan contradicts, as if someone can only be one or the other. “Like our driver, have you seen him?”

They’re too close and Nathan is speaking too loudly. “I like his tattoos,” Harry says quietly, stepping away as Zayn hands the American guy his tent and turns back for the poles. 

“I like what the tattoos are covering.”

“He’s all right.”

“But neither of them have an ass like our tour guide, am I right?”

“Tour leader,” Harry corrects. Harry may be gay, but he’s definitely not interested in dissecting the attributes of their fellow travellers with Nathan. Why does the guy even think he would be? For all he knows, Harry’s straight. Or is this his clumsy attempt to find out? “Have you got your tent yet?”

“Hello, hello.” 

Harry jumps at the cheerful voice. “Louis!”

“You all right here?” Louis doesn’t look like he overheard their conversation. “Nathan, I think Jim’s looking for a tentmate. You haven’t been assigned a number yet. There’s a choice spot over there by those trees that’s still available.”

“I thought maybe Harry—”

“Jim,” Louis shouts, “looks like Nathan’s free.”

“Cool.” Jim steps over to them and tosses the pole bag towards Nathan, who automatically brings up his hands to catch it. “Zayn recommends the spot by the trees over there. Always good to get the opinion of the locals.”

“I’m a local too,” Nathan says, offended. 

“Perfect.” Louis claps his hands together. “Jim was asking about some birds he saw earlier. I’m sure you’ll be able to identify them for him, Nathan.”

“Of course I can.”

“Excellent, excellent. But you’d better hurry to claim that spot. I see some others eyeing it.”

“Smoothly done,” Harry comments as the two men rush over to the trees. 

“I like to keep my passengers happy.” Louis pushes back his hair, leaving it standing on end because it’s so damp with sweat. “They’ll work out well together.”

“Thank you.”

Louis drops his attempt at innocence. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”

“He’s a bit....forceful.”

“I’m sure Jim can handle him. He’s a bit forceful himself.”

“Not quite in the same way.”

Louis’ smile fades. “Harry, was he harassing you?”

Uncomfortable, Harry shrugs. “Just coming on a bit strong.” He should stop there, but he finds himself confiding, “I think he was trying to find out if I’m also gay.”

“Ah.” Louis’ face doesn’t change, no speculation enters his eyes as to why Nathan alighted on Harry for that fishing expedition. 

Because of that, Harry feels able to say, “I am.”

Still no flicker in Louis’ expression; it remains warm and open. “Did you let him know?”

“No.” Harry looks out across the grass to where Nathan is now arguing with Jim about the best way to put up their tent. “I don’t hide it, but nor do I want to sit around evaluating body parts of the other men on the tour with him.”

“Yeah, I heard the last part of that.”

Harry winces. “I hoped you hadn’t.”

“Hey, the man’s not wrong.” Louis twists around and thrusts out his hip in a teasing pose. 

“Louis, stop showing off.” Zayn comes up behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be teaching tent skills over there?”

“I am indeed.” Louis sounds unrepentant. “Zayn, meet Harry Styles. Harry, this is Zayn Malik, our driver and my best friend.”

“Your only friend,” Zayn mutters, swatting the hip Louis still has thrust out. “Are you rooming alone, Harry?”

“Excuse me, Zayn, but it’s called tenting. Haven’t you heard?”

Zayn looks at Louis as if he’s mad. “Tenting?”

“Harry pointed out that we’ve been wrong all this time.”

Zayn transfers the searing look to Harry. “Tenting?”

“Because they’re…tents?”

Louis grins. “Accuracy is important to Harry, so we’re going to be very accurate on this trip.”

“Tenting.” Zayn can’t seem to move beyond the word.

“Yes, tenting.” Louis grabs Harry’s hand, pulling him around Zayn to the remaining bags. “Number twenty-eight’s always our tent, me and Zayn’s. Seems like everyone paired up except for Rose and you, so you can choose between eleven, forty-two and eighty-nine.”

“I’d like eleven, please.”

“So polite.” Louis raises his voice. “Zayn? Harry’s having eleven, write it down.”

“Do I have to sign for it?”

“No, just remember your number. It will be yours all the way to Kenya. Now come on, I’ll show you how to erect it.”

*

Harry only embarrasses himself twice during his tent erection with Louis, once tripping over a pole he didn’t notice and falling flat on his face, and one getting caught on the doorway when he tries to enter it and ending up sprawled on the floor inside. He definitely has to work on his tent skills. Liam and Niall are of no use whatsoever, because they just sit on the grass outside their tent and laugh at him. Still, it could be worse. He could be having to share a tent with Nathan for the next three weeks. 

He skips the wine tasting in favour of the pool, which he has largely to himself. It’s not enormous, but thirty leisurely lengths leave his back feeling much revived. Maybe he can ask Rolf and Annette for some stretching tips in return for photography advice, because as dancers they must need to keep in shape during the trip. 

The bathrooms are posh for a campsite, boasting large private shower cubicles, each with a large glassless window looking out across the lush valley to the mountains. To be honest, this is not what he was expecting. They’re still in South Africa, though, so maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up as far as the rest of the trip is concerned. But as he revels in the warm spray of water over his pool-chilled body, he can’t help thinking back to the dusty shantytown with its single source of water. 

*

Louis confirms his suspicions about future camping at dinner. While their hosts serve them grilled fish, freshly caught from a local river, with golden gem squash and butternut fritters coated in cinnamon on the side, Louis flits around the room, perching himself on each wooden table for a chat with its occupants. 

“He has an awful lot of energy,” Liam comments as they watch him reduce his current companions to gales of laughter. He’s laughing too, his voice high and bright above the others. 

It’s such a pretty laugh, Harry thinks. 

“I slept for most of the day and I’m still exhausted,” Niall says, waving his fork around in the air. “How does he do it?”

“Practice?” 

They’re nearly finished their meal by the time Louis reaches them. “Hello, lads.” Instead of sitting on the table, he slides himself onto the empty side of Harry’s bench. “How are things? Good dinner? Did you enjoy your afternoon? Harry, what did I tell you about using sunscreen?”

“I was swimming.” Did he put any on? He thought he had. Maybe the flush Louis sees on his skin is remnants of this afternoon’s embarrassments. “It must have washed off.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed the pool; there won’t be much more of luxury like this, certainly not after Botswana. Same with the hot showers, so take full advantage. But I got you that aloe I told you about. I’ll fetch it for you after dinner, yeah? It will help it hurt less, and also prevent too much damage to your skin. But be careful, lad. You need to wear a cap too.”

“I forgot mine in England.”

“And you had how many days in Cape Town to buy another one?”

“I didn’t think of it?” Harry hates how uncertain he sounds. Louis must think he’s utterly incapable of taking care of himself. “I’ll get one next time we’re in a town.”

“That won’t be for nearly a week, not until Swakopmund, and we’re in nothing but desert the whole time.” Louis shakes his head reprovingly. “Never mind, I’ll find something somewhere for you. What about you other two? Niall? Sun not bothering you?”

“I have a big floppy hat.” Of course Niall can impress Louis with his self-care abilities. “The sun and I don’t get on at all.”

“Well done, make sure you keep it with you at all times. The sun here can be ruthless, especially in summer. And how’re you faring with the heat? I have to warn you, it’ll be even hotter tomorrow as we head to the border with Namibia. It can get up to 50 degrees in summer.”

“Ugh.” Harry bites his lip as Louis’ eyes snap to his at his unintentional groan. 

“How do you cope with this?” Liam asks. 

“It’s easier for me in the desert because it’s a very dry heat. I struggle more when we get closer to the equator and the humidity becomes intense. Prepare yourself for heat rashes in places you never imagined, gentlemen. The nights don’t cool down much there either, whereas in the desert the temperatures drop pretty quickly. In fact, after dinner we’ll have a fire tonight and you’ll be happy for it.”

Harry can already feel the chill in the evening breeze. Good thing he brought several jumpers and hoodies, even though Gemma laughed at him when he was packing. 

“I noticed you brought a guitar,” Louis says to Niall. “I wondered if you’d like to bring it out, play a bit for us. We don’t usually have entertainment along on these trips, and we certainly can’t pay, but I won’t mind if you’d like to try out some of the songs you’re writing or even lead a singalong or two. What do you think?”

“I’m always up for a singalong, mate.” 

“Excellent. On that note, I’d better get to my dinner before Zayn finishes it off for me.”

A look at the table at the back, where Zayn is sitting with their hosts, reveals that their driver is only halfway through his own meal. “I think you’re safe, Louis,” Harry tells him.

Louis grins brightly at him. “I’ll find you after dinner with the aloe gel, yeah?”

*

Niall fetches his guitar as their fellow campers gather around the generous fire. Most are a little tipsy from the wine tasting and all seem enthusiastic at the suggestion of a singalong. Harry lounges between Liam and Niall, but several songs in, even the fire isn’t enough to keep him warm, so he excuses himself to return to the tents to find a hoodie. He’s just pulling it over his head when he hears his name called.

“Harry?”

It’s Louis, and he yanks the hoodie down, trying to free his face. “Louis?”

“I have the—what are you doing?”

Harry has no idea. He can’t see anything. Where is the hole for his head? His arms are in the right holes, so what’s gone wrong?

“Come here, love, you’ve got it on back to front. Let me help you.”

Harry’s face burns as Louis tugs and pulls until suddenly the material is gone and he can see again. 

“That’s right, just put your arms back in like this, there we go.”

“I can do it.” He jerks away. “Thank you, but I’m—” Mortified. He can’t think of another word to finish the sentence with. “I’m fine.”

“All sorted now.” There’s no mockery in Louis’ voice. Instead he sounds like his warm, helpful self. 

Harry needs to stop being so sensitive. “Thank you,” he says again. 

“You’re welcome. I brought you the aloe.” Louis holds out a little plastic jar. “When you go to bed, rub this on the worst places. It has cooling properties and will minimise the inflammation. Drink lots of water too, not just tonight but the whole time we’re in the desert. This climate is a shock to your body and it’s better to stay ahead of dehydration, especially during long driving days when you might not realise how thirsty you’re getting. Keep an eye on your friends and make sure they keep drinking too. I try to regularly remind everyone anyway.”

“Okay.” Harry bends down to tuck the jar into his bag before zipping up the door of his tent and locking it. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Louis smiles up at him. “Are you heading back to the fire? I’ll walk with you.”

As they walk, Harry remembers something he wondered about on his way to the tents. “Do you know much about the stars? They’re really bright here and I was looking at them earlier but I didn’t recognise anything.”

“I’m not the best expert on them, I’m afraid. I should be, I’ve been trying to learn, but I keep forgetting to bring my book. I think I lost it somewhere, actually. I should get a new one. But I know a little; what do you want to know?”

“Where can I find the North Star here?”

“Oh, you can’t.”

“What?” Harry stops walking. They’re between the vineyards now, away from immediate lights, and he looks up at the sparkling heavens. “Why can’t I? Where is it?”

“In the northern hemisphere. You won’t find it this far south.”

“There’s no North Star?”

“Not here.”

“There has to be a North Star. How did the sailors navigate? Are you having me on?”

“Using other stars?” Louis sounds apologetic. “I don’t know. I’m not lying, Harry, I promise. I will never lie to you. There are different constellations in the southern hemisphere than you’re used to. Look, do you see over there? Do you see those two really bright stars in a diagonal line pointing up like that? Follow in that direction. Do you see the cross? It’s on its side. That’s the Southern Cross, and it’s, if you like, the southern equivalent of the North Star. If you follow the longer line like this, it points to the South Pole.” 

The South Pole. Of course. How stupid of him not to realise that navigation would revolve around the opposite pole down here. He follows the line Louis drew in the sky. That’s south. It’s what they’re heading away from, leaving behind. 

“If you look over there,” Louis touches his arm to turn him slightly, “do you see the stars that sweep around like an upside down question mark?”

“Where?”

Louis picks up Harry’s hand to trace the shape in the sky. “There, like that.”

Once Harry picks it out, it’s very vivid indeed, quite spectacular. “What’s that one?”

“That’s Scorpius. It means scorpion, of which there are far too many out here, so be careful. Always check your tent carefully and keep it closed, and check underneath it when you pack it away. Believe me, you don’t want to get stung by one.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not particularly, unless you’re allergic, but it hurts like hell.”

“Have you been stung?”

“Once.” Louis grimaces. “I don’t recommend it.”

Harry resolves to be very careful with his tent. “They should have called it question mark, or question. A scorpion isn’t a great thing for such a magnificent constellation to be named after.”

“I agree. The ancient Greeks apparently didn’t.” 

Harry looks up to view the constellation in its entirety again. It’s very impressive. “So you found me the Southern Cross and a scorpion. Anything else?”

“Oh yes, Harry, look.” This time Louis puts his entire arm around Harry’s body to turn him to face the opposite direction. He doesn’t take it away as he points with his other hand. “Look over there, near the horizon. See anything you recognise?”

It only takes Harry a second and he wonders how he missed it earlier. “It’s Orion!”

“Yeah. You know that one?”

“Yes!” It’s the same one he grew up seeing outside his bedroom window. “How come we can see it here and not the other stars I know?”

“Because it straddles the equator, so it can be seen in both hemispheres. We’re so far south here, it’s pretty low. You’ll be used to seeing it a lot higher.”

Tentatively, Harry wraps his arm around Louis. “Thank you,” he says as they stand there gazing up at the southern stars. “I was looking earlier and they were all so strange to me. I couldn’t locate anything and it made me feel lost. I mean, I know where we are on earth, but—it didn’t even feel like earth. Everything looked wrong. Strange and foreign.” He lets his head rest against Louis’ as they gaze up at the sky. “But you found me again. Thank you for that.”

Louis gives his waist a gentle pinch. “I’ll always find you, Harriet.”

Taking Louis’ lead, Harry slips his fingers beneath Louis’ thin t-shirt to twist the soft flesh he finds there in retaliation. “Thanks, Lulu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first full day on the road.

**Day 3 - Louis**

**Cederberg to the Orange River, South Africa**

The night is so windy that when Louis yells his traditional “Good morning, everybody!” at six am, heads pop out of tents immediately. He doubts anyone got much sleep after being battered around so much. He can normally sleep through anything, but he felt like he needed to regularly check that nobody was blowing away during the night. 

He sets up the breakfast table between Shamwari and the wall she’s parked beside, out of the worst of the gale, directing windblown campers first to boxes of cereal and then to loaves of bread to make sandwiches for themselves for lunch, since they’ll be eating on the road today. 

Harry shows up with his friends, curls loose and wild, and stands in front of the cereal rubbing his eyes. When he catches Louis watching him, he drops his hands. “Morning.”

“Good morning, rise and shine, have a happy day,” Louis says all at once. 

Harry blinks slowly, several times. “What?”

“Good morning, rise and—”

“Stop. Please. Why?”

Louis takes pity on him and sets down the loaf he’s slicing. “Are you a coffee or tea man?”

“There’s coffee?”

“Plenty of it.” Harry doesn’t look like he should be around boiling water, so Louis deftly slips between him and the table and reaches for the coffee. “Sugar? Milk?”

“You don’t need to make me coffee.” 

“We here at Southern Skies breakfast catering like to offer a full-service experience for our hardy campers.”

“I’m not very hardy,” Harry says, accepting the mug Louis carefully didn’t fill to the brim. “Black is fine, though. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Cereal?”

“Are you gonna make that for me too?”

“We here at Southern Skies breakfast—”

“Stop!” The laugh erupts through Harry’s body, threatening the coffee. “Please don’t say that again in that voice.”

“You don’t like it? It’s my best American service industry accent. Don’t I sound cheerful enough?”

“Way, way too cheerful.”

Louis instantly adopts a sorrowful face. “We here at Southern Skies breakfast catering,” he says with great solemnity, trying to speak as slowly and deeply as Harry does, “like to offer a full-service experience—”

“Louis!”

“Yes?” Louis chirps, and Harry loses it again, so much so that he has to set his coffee mug down altogether. 

“H, what’s wrong?” Liam appears behind him. “Are you all right? Is he having a fit?” he asks Louis. 

“I thought this was the regular Harry Styles morning-after experience,” Louis says. “Should I be worried?”

Harry is laughing so hard he can’t talk, keeps trying to before bursting back into delightful little giggles. This is an excellent way to start the day, as far as Louis is concerned. 

“Harry?” Liam gingerly takes his arm. “What’s going on?”

“Louis,” Harry gasps. “It’s all Louis.”

Louis tries to look hurt. “I thought I was Lulu. Honestly, this is a very disappointing morning after.”

“Morning after what?” Liam pulls back, fixing Louis with a suspicious look. 

Not what Louis meant at all. Of course, Liam knows that Harry is gay, so Louis’ teasing implies something more than it would otherwise. “The morning after surviving the wind, Liam, keep up. Harriet, are you having cereal or not?”

Liam looks around. “Who’s Harriet?”

“Not,” Harry says decisively. “It’s too early.”

He’s a big boy and Louis has to accept his decision. “All right, then, move along to make your sandwiches for lunch to free up the cereal and coffee station for these lovely ladies from Newcastle heading our way.”

Harry shuffles along, buried in his coffee again, and Liam shakes his head. “I’ll make him some cereal. He can take a while to start functioning sometimes.”

Louis used to be like that too. University Louis could never have imagined a Louis of bright early mornings and happy chatter. “We’ll be stopping in a small town around lunchtime,” he lets Liam know. “There’ll be cold drinks and snacks to supplement the sandwiches, if you guys want. Nothing fancy, just a convenience store.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Louis bows. “Happy to be of service.”

From the corner he hears another cackle from Harry. Good. He looked so lost last night, confronted with stranger stars than he expected. Louis will have to find another star book for him; hopefully Swakopmund will have something.

*

Louis loves the desert. It’s not something he’d anticipated, never having felt much interest in deserts before, particularly when geography class bored the daylights out of him, but there’s something exhilarating about the emptiness of it, the vast barren space of it all, stretching out as far as one can see. Today’s drive is one of the more frustrating ones for him because it’s eight hours of not-quite-desert, golden sand covered in greyish green scrub, rising to stony hills in the distance. It feels like a constant promise that never gets fulfilled. 

But it’s just as hot as the desert. He’s dressed for it, wearing loose shorts, a threadbare old t-shirt covered in fading pictures of the Big Five animals of Africa, and flipflops which are easy to kick off so he can make himself comfortable beside Zayn, curled on his seat, bare feet resting on the dash in front of him. For the first couple of years they drove together, Zayn smacked his feet away every time he tried to put them there, but Louis persisted and now Zayn pretends he doesn’t notice and Louis pretends he’s getting away with it and everyone’s happy.

Today he’s refilled his water bottle, he’s found his missing sunglasses after enduring a very unpleasant glare from the sun yesterday, and he’s got some of his favourite music blaring from the speakers that only fill the cab and not the rest of the truck behind them, as long as he keeps the door that links them closed, which he does. It’s a good day and he’s happy watching mile after mile of semi-arid karoo disappear behind them. 

“You know what we should do tonight,” he says as one song comes to an end and he leans forward to put his water bottle away, “is get Niall’s album off him. He sounded good last night by the fire.”

“Thought you didn’t like such folksy music,” Zayn says, reaching for his own bottle. They’re good about reminding each other to drink like that.

“I don’t, but I like his voice.” 

He wants to hear more of the lyrics, see what Harry wrote for him on a fancy Greek island in the Aegean Sea. Louis’ never seen the Mediterranean, let alone the Aegean Sea. There was one holiday in a caravan park somewhere in Louis’ early childhood, and he’s not even certain where that was beyond somewhere on the east coast of England. It was the only time he’d seen the sea until his first visit to Cape Town with Michelle during university. 

Miles continue to pass. Louis should think of them as kilometres, really, he’s been training himself for years not to say miles, but unless he’s thinking about a specific driving distance, he still mentally defaults to miles. Does that count as a geographic failing of his or a cultural one? 

The town of Springbok always looks deeply depressing to Louis, nestled between the granite domes of hills which are rather grandly called the Copper Mountains. It looks stuck in a time several decades before Louis’ birth and even the palm trees look depressed—or maybe that’s just the heat. It’s 41 degrees out there today, and that’s in the shade. No helpful clouds hover to provide any shade, not even on the distant horizon. 

As Zayn slows Shamwari to a stop at the side of the road, Louis clambers through the little doorway into the main section of the truck. “So who’s awake in here?”

Not a soul. What a waste. 

“Oi, who’s awake?” he shouts, and gradually people start lifting their heads and looking around, disoriented. “Welcome to the thriving metropolis of Springbok,” Louis announces. “We’re going to stop here for half an hour, give everyone a chance to use the facilities and to buy cold drinks, crisps, chocolates, and other delights. Since it’s Sunday afternoon not much is open, but there is a small Spar across the road in that direction.” He points and everybody turns to look. Ah, the power rush. “See you in there. Be back here at one o’clock sharp for our journey onward to the Orange River and the Namibian border.”

He hops back into the cab and then down onto the road. He’s supposed to be saving his money and he’s broken himself of his early habit of stuffing himself full of crisps whenever the opportunity arose along the road, but he can’t seem to break his addiction to the brand of neon green Crème Soda he’s discovered in Africa. Something about its chemical sugary goodness keeps him going, especially in the heat, especially when it’s ice cold straight out of a shop refrigerator. 

Skipping past his sleepy passengers, he checks out the corner of the Spar in case they have any caps for Harry. Nope. He hadn’t expected any, but you never know what little treats random little shops might yield. According to the guys back at the Highlanders campsite, Namibia’s having extensive rains this season, far more than usual, so maybe Harry will be okay to wait until Swakopmund. If not, Louis has one somewhere in the cab. He makes a mental note to search for it when they reach camp tonight.

“Louis, just the man I want to see.” Niall managed to beat him to the drinks refrigerators, perusing the choices with avid interest. “Tell me what’s good here. What do you recommend?”

Louis goes straight for the centre shelf. “This is my poison.” He grabs two cans of the green stuff, hesitates, then reaches for one more. Closing the door, he flicks open the one beside it. “Zayn, on the other hand, prefers this. It’s not like the Fanta Orange back home, you should give it a try.” Two cans of that and now his hands are too full to accidentally snatch any salt and vinegar crisps from his favourite Simba brand on his way to the cash register. His system is flawless. 

Except that Harry and Liam block his way, arms overflowing with crisps of all flavours. 

“Lion King crisps,” Harry says, grinning as he brandishes the picture of the beaming lion at Louis. “Why do these taste so much better than they do in England?”

“The chocolate does too,” Louis informs them. “So many more options here, so many delicious flavours.”

“Don’t,” moans Liam. “I’m not supposed to be eating any junk food on this trip since I can’t work it off at the gym. Don’t make it harder.”

“We’re on holiday, Liam.”

“We’re working, H. And holiday rules don’t apply when your holiday lasts for two bloody months. Stop tempting me.”

“The salt and vinegar ones are the best,” Louis says, being of no help to Liam whatsoever. “I spent my first two years on this route buying them at every stop.” He pats his bum. “I still haven’t worked them off.”

Both Harry and Liam look. 

“It suits you, Louis,” Harry says seriously. “Don’t change that.”

He’s too lazy to, something which irritates Michelle no end with all her aerobics and jazzercise and whatnot classes, but he lives in perpetual hope that one day he’ll magically reshape into broad shoulders and slim hips—a bit like Harry, actually. That shape has been the nebulous ideal lurking at the back of his mind in recent years as it became clear that no baby fat was planning to melt away from his lower regions the way it was supposed to. And maybe heavy lifting at a gym would help with the shoulders, but no matter how hard he works he’ll never be as ripped as Liam, so there’s no point even hoping. Harry somehow manages to have broad shoulders while still looking delicate—although Louis can’t imagine he’d approve of being called delicate, so he’s definitely not going to mention it. 

“What are we all looking at?” Niall asks, coming up to join them, laden down with both Crème Soda and Fanta Orange cans. 

Everyone is still staring at Louis’ bum, Louis realises. “The damage Simba crisps did to me before I knew better,” he says lightly. 

“Oh yeah, we had them in Cape Town!” Niall’s face lights up. “I love the Mexican Chili flavour. Harry, get more of those.”

“I’m going to drop them,” Harry says. “Louis said we should try the chocolates as well. Remember that peppermint one we had in Cape Town? I liked that one.”

“Peppermint Crisp?” Now Louis’ mouth is watering for more than just Crème Soda and salt and vinegar crisps. Suddenly he sympathises with Liam. “You’re a menace to healthy living, Harriet.”

The smirk Harry hasn’t shown since that first night in Cape Town makes its way back onto his face. “I’m gonna get you one,” he threatens. “I’ll get you two and make you eat both of them right in front of me.”

Louis’d like to see him try, but there’s no way he wants to risk Harry doing exactly that. He’s annoyingly bigger than Louis, and while he’s not Liam, Louis saw him tossing around his tent bag with ease this morning, which means he’s definitely stronger than he looks. “One,” he says sternly. “I’ll give the other one to Zayn, who is aggravatingly impervious to both chocolate and crisps. Now let’s get these to the registers before our drinks get too warm. The heat will only get worse this afternoon, lads, as we head towards the real desert.”

*

The Peppermint Crisp tastes just as annoyingly good as he remembers. 

He’s just grateful Harry didn’t see fit to inflict any crisps on him. One mouthful of that salt and vinegar tang and it would be all over for him.

*

The last section of today’s journey makes up for the previous seven and a half hours, in Louis’ opinion. Zayn would probably differ, but then Zayn’s the one who has to put in all the hard work of keeping the truck on the bouncy dirt road as it twists steeply through narrow sandstone canyons along the Orange River to their camp for the night. Louis likes to pretend he’s on a particularly bumpy roller coaster. Zayn put a stop to the Formula One-style commentary he used to include, and while Louis still does it sometimes in his head, it’s boring with no one to listen to it. 

Maybe he should go into the main section of the truck and entertain his passengers. All the jarring of the dirt track has surely woken them up. 

“Don’t even think about it, Louis,” Zayn warns. 

“They might enjoy it.”

“We’re only two days in. Don’t scare them off before we’ve left our first country.”

“If anyone’s scaring them,” Louis points out as Shamwari almost tips when Zayn eases her around a particularly sharp corner with a drop of several hundred feet on their left and a sheer wall on their right, “it’s you, taking them down this crazy road. I just want to distract them from near certain death.”

Zayn waits until the road widens and flattens slightly before retorting, “Nobody’s going to die. You’re the only one who ever thinks that. We wouldn’t bring them here if it wasn’t safe.”

Louis has other opinions, but Zayn’s mouth is tight and the road is stressful so he subsides in his seat for the last ten minutes of the ride. As they pull into their riverside campsite, he looks across at Zayn and says sincerely, “Well done on keeping us alive,” before slipping through the door into the back of the truck to give his next welcome-to-this-new-campsite speech.

To confirm his earlier impression, Louis watches Harry sling tent number eleven easily over his shoulder and tuck the bag of poles under his arm. He has as little trouble as Liam, and considerably less than several of the other men. So much for delicate. Louis usually makes Zayn carry their tent. His excuse is that he’s not tall enough and that’s what he’s sticking to. 

While Louis sets out his stainless steel tables and the rest of his cooking paraphernalia, he keeps an eye on the tent erectors on the grass beyond the truck. Sometimes campers take several days to master the tents, simple as they are, but he seems to have a smart bunch on this trip. Nathan and Jim are arguing over where the ideal location is for their tent, an argument which Nathan wins when he starts scaring Jim with stories about scorpions. Louis has had a few encounters with scorpions burrowing beneath tents at this campsite, so Nathan’s not wrong. 

The Scottish girl, Marya, dressed in tiny denim cutoffs and a t-shirt knotted beneath her breasts, follows them, bleating about not knowing what to do with her tent, distracting Jim from putting up his own tent. Louis laughs to himself as her tentmate, Yolanda, the very capable Australian flight attendant, casually erects the tent behind Marya’s back so by the time she brings Jim—her obvious target—back to help her, there’s nothing left to be done. Marya will have to be smarter than that if she wants to snag Jim, who looks at her as though she’s demented. Oh, look at that. She’s asking him about his consultancy services and steering him towards the river. No doubt she’ll reveal a tiny bikini beneath those skimpy clothes any moment now. Louis has seen the game play out innumerable times.

Meanwhile, Duncan and Danny are helping Rose with her tent again. She’s so short it’s hard for her to reach the top clips to hook her tent completely to the poles, but they seem to have adopted her, good to know. Niall’s helping Rachel and Nicole do the same while Liam does his and Niall’s tent, and Harry takes care of his own. Louis appreciates camper teamwork. 

The Canadian, Carlie, has no height problems and efficiently takes care of the tent she’s sharing with their youngest passenger, Hayley. They’re a good mix. Carlie’s seen a lot of the world already, she’s confident and capable, and Hayley’s in good hands with her. Also, Hayley has a good attitude. She’s actively learning from Carlie instead of standing around letting Carlie do all the work. Louis approves.

Unlike Michael across from them, who is currently ranting at his wife as she hooks up the tent and unzips the windows to let it air out. Louis doesn’t envy Vicky at all. How does she put up with being treated that way in public? She seems very used to it, though, tuning him out while she gets everything sorted. Does Michael have any idea how awful he looks? How badly he comes across? Evidently not. He storms off towards the truck to fetch his bag and Louis stands there, two sacks of onions in his hands, waiting to see if he’ll bring Vicky’s as well. Nope. Well, that was too much to ask. 

“Louis?”

“Harriet?” Louis sets down the onions as he turns around. “Are you on cooking today?”

“No.” Harry’s cheeks are pink, but no longer look like they’re hurting from sunburn. “I’m on truck cleaning so I came to ask you what we need to do. It’s me, Rolf, Carlie and Rachel, and we’re ready. Is now the right time to do it?”

“The perfect time.” Louis missed the other three hovering behind Harry. “Come along,” he says to them all, “and I’ll show you what to do now that everyone’s out of the truck. All of your tents go okay?”

“They’re good tents,” Carlie says, falling in line on Harry’s other side. “You have one to yourself, I see,” she says to him. “Plenty of space to stretch out and relax.”

Harry wrinkles his nose and it’s the cutest thing Louis’ ever seen. “Only because everyone else had already paired up by the time I got there. I wasn’t trying to be selfish.”

“I wouldn’t want to sleep in a tent alone,” says Rachel, noticing Harry’s distress and changing the focus of the conversation. “Last night with all that wind I was scared it would blow away, and that was with two of us.”

“They’re pretty sturdy,” Louis reassures her. “And last night was unusual. That was the worst wind I’ve ever experienced and I’ve been doing this for years.”

With that, they reach Shamwari and he spends the next few minutes showing them where to find the cleaning equipment and detailing what he expects from each night’s cleaning crew. It’s not a tough job unless there’s been a lot of rain and therefore mud tracked through the truck, and with four of them it will only take them a few minutes. 

He should go back to his onions now. Not stand and watch as Harry bends between the seats to clear out any rubbish before Rolf comes behind him with the broom. 

“Louis?”

“Yes, love?” He turns to Rachel, who’s returned from emptying the bin. 

“Is the river here safe for us to swim in?”

“It is. There are some canoes down there as well, for anyone who wants to explore the river a bit further down. But you’re welcome to hang out on the bank for the rest of the afternoon and enjoy the sun and water. You have sunscreen, yeah?”

Her skin is as fair as her hair, and since she and Nicole only arrived from Newcastle the day before the trip started she hasn’t had much of a chance to get burned. She blushes prettily, however, and nods. “We likely brought far too much, but Nicole burns even worse than I do so she said rather be safe than sorry. And, also, we didn’t know if we’d be able to buy it in Africa.” 

Setting the bin back in its position, she leans back a little. She has a tight vest on and her position shows off her curvy figure in a very enticing fashion, but beneath the pose she looks uncertain and slightly uncomfortable. Sometimes his passengers try out new personas on these trips, or they experiment with who they want to be away from their community back home. Rachel strikes him as one of those and he doesn’t want to crush her, but nor does he want to encourage any kind of awkward flirtation.

“I brought a lot the first time I came to Africa too,” he says, keeping his voice casual and friendly. “My girlfriend, who’s from Cape Town, laughed at me and told me I didn’t need to but I didn’t believe her. I was braced for the worst, expecting the kind of thing we’ll see further along in this trip, mud huts, no electricity, wild animals roaming.” There we go, there’s an unselfconscious grin from her. “But you saw Cape Town.”

“Nicole and I went shopping at the Waterfront. It has fancier shops even than Newcastle.”

“Right?” Louis nods and gives her shoulder a warm squeeze. “Michelle still teases me about it to this day. But you were right to bring it because we’ll only stop in a town about once a week and you wouldn’t want to run out in between.”

“You don’t want to end up looking like me,” Harry says, reaching them with his little collection of rubbish. He points to his nose and Rachel giggles. 

“We have the same colour eyes.”

Instead of complaining that Rachel emptied the bin before he got there with the rubbish left strewn around inside the truck, Harry bends down to get a closer look. “We do! There aren’t many green-eyed people, so we’d better stick together.”

Oh dear, now Rachel’s resuming her pose, only aimed at Harry this time. Harry hasn’t said anything to the rest of the group about being gay so Louis can only follow his lead and not mention it either. The female contingent will be crushed. Yep, Carlie’s not looking too impressed to see Rachel making inroads on bonding with Harry. This promises to be entertaining. 

“Are you coming down to the river to swim, Harry?” Rachel asks, fidgeting with a lock of pretty blonde hair. 

“Yeah, I think Niall and Liam have gone already.” Harry heads towards the door with his handful of rubbish, but pauses, looking back over his shoulder to call, “Rolf, will you be joining us at the river?”

“Five minutes,” Rolf confirms. “I just need to find something to sweep this into.”

“Oh, I saw a dustpan.” Carlie springs to life. “Louis, it’s in the locker you showed us, right?”

“That’s right.” He follows Harry down the steps out the back. “Looks like you lot have everything under control. Well done with your first truck duty. I’d better go and see if my cooking group have turned up to help chop vegetables for tonight’s dinner.”

“You’re not coming to the river?” Carlie asks.

“Maybe later, once the prep work for dinner is done.”

“Great.” She sparkles at him, shooting Rachel a look that suggests she didn’t hear his reference to his girlfriend earlier. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

He reaches his makeshift kitchen just as Harry closes the lid of the large campsite bin. “This is how you cook for us?” Harry asks, motioning towards Louis’ gas cooker set up on one of the tables. 

Considering Louis barely knew how to cook for himself when he left for university, he’s very proud of the culinary skills he’s developed over the past five years of cooking regularly for groups of twenty or more. “How do you like my kitchen?” 

This camp offers more elaborate settings than most, providing a little shelter—a corrugated iron roof strapped to wooden poles, an eight-foot bamboo fence to block the worst of the wind, and even a double sink affair, also balanced on wooden poles. To it, he’s added his three large steel tables, the gas cooker, a variety of buckets for chopping vegetables into and other uses, and several crates bearing cutlery, plates, cups and chopping boards. This is his domain, and while it’s not what he would have chosen for his life, he’s learned to feel at home in it. 

“You were very quick setting this up,” Harry observes, looking impressed as he takes it all in. 

“Years of practice, love.” Maybe he shouldn’t call Harry _love_. It’s his go-to term of affection for his campers, but it resonates inappropriately for Harry. Pulling out two bags of potatoes from the box beneath one of the tables, he brandishes them in Harry’s direction. “Now unless you want to be co-opted into today’s cooking group, I suggest you get out of here while you still can.”

Instead of hurrying away from work, Harry leans a hip on the side of the sinks. “What do you plan to make?”

“Tonight is fried potatoes with vegetables and beef.”

“Do you make it all in one pot?”

“Yeah.” He follows Harry’s eyes as they evaluate the ingredients Louis is setting out. “Do you cook?”

“A bit.” Apparently satisfied with his perusal, Harry looks up to meet Louis’ eyes. “Never for this many people before, so I’m curious. I wouldn’t know where to begin cooking for a group like this.”

“It’s mostly about the planning. Once you’ve figured out what ingredients you’ll need, you have to make sure you’ve bought enough, then it’s simple. I have a strict shopping budget for these trips. The money you guys handed over in cash to me on the first night that was called the kitty payment? That’s literally what I use to buy our supplies along the way, so it’s a matter of maximising ingredients and combining the budget with nutritional satisfaction.”

“Nutritional satisfaction,” Harry echoes. “I like that.” Leaving the sink, he leans against one of the poles holding up the roof, watching Louis free a dozen onions from their mesh sack. “How did you learn how to do this?”

“Trial and error, mostly. Before I led trips on my own I went on shorter trips with other tour leaders to see how they did the job. It’s not really a job you can teach in theory, you only learn from doing it. The first person I went with was Lauren. She’s my girlfriend’s best friend, the reason we both work for Southern Skies today. She taught me the basics, I’d’ve been completely lost without her, and since then I’ve experimented a bit. I focus on my own tastes, naturally, since I’m the one eating this stuff consistently. And Zayn's. I always do a few curries along the way for him because they’re his favourite. It’s been harder to learn how to adequately cater for people with special eating needs, though. I’m okay now with vegetarians and vegans, but gluten-free and kosher have been a bit harder. Various allergies as well. You never really know what requirements people will turn up with.” 

“I’m largely vegetarian at the moment,” Harry says as Louis sorts through the onions to make sure they’re all good, “but I thought I wouldn’t make a fuss about that here. Are there other vegetarians on this trip?”

“One, Annette. At least up until Victoria Falls, when the group will change. I’m not sure what we’ll get then.” That’s a problem for several weeks in the future. Louis is just grateful that the first part of this trip has so few complicated requirements. He turns to the bags of potatoes. Where’s his cooking crew? He told them to meet him at the kitchen area after their tents were finished. He doesn’t want to peel all these potatoes by himself. “But, Harry, if you’d rather eat vegetarian, that’s not a problem. Just let me know.”

He’s starting to learn the difference between Harry’s smiles. This isn’t the smirk, nor is it his amused grin; it’s softer, sweeter. Happier. “I’m okay for now,” Harry says, smile still playing around the corners of his lips. “I don’t want to cause you extra work.”

“It’s no extra work since I’m already catering for Annette. I’m making hers separate tonight. Should I make enough for you too?”

Harry’s face does a complicated thing as he considers. If Louis knew him better, he’d be able to guess at each thought passing through his mind, reflecting on his features. “No, thank you,” he says after a minute of animated thinking. “But thanks for offering.”

“Just keep me informed if you want to change your mind. It’s really no bother.” Usually he has the opposite conversation with passengers during the first couple of nights of a trip, where they suddenly decide they have dietary restrictions they didn’t mention in advance and he’s caught out in the middle of the desert with no way to satisfy them. “Now, what about your swim? You said you were going down to the river?”

“I am. I was just curious about the cooking.” Harry frowns down at Louis’ hands, which are pulling out two dozen potatoes. “Do you need help?”

“Nope. You’re not on cooking today, you’ve done your duties. I’m not sure who’s on cooking today. If you don’t mind, you can check the list for me and send them back here if you find them at the river.”

“I need to change first.” Harry looks towards Shamwari, where the list is pinned up at the back beside the lockers. “I don’t want to leave you working alone.”

“I’ll be fine. Honestly.” Louis gives him a bright smile. “Don’t forget your sunscreen, yeah?”

Uncertainly, Harry nods. “That reminds me, I wanted to thank you. The aloe gel you gave me helped a lot.”

“Excellent. Keep it, I have more. Put it on again after you’ve been in the river and had a shower.”

“I will. Thanks, Louis.”

Louis keeps the smile on his face until Harry’s heading for his tent to change, then he lets it fade as he considers the mound of potatoes to peel. He should probably go down to the river in search of his missing crew himself, but Harry looked like he wouldn’t leave if Louis didn’t give him some way to make himself useful. That’s something Louis will have to watch out for. 

“Where’s your crew?”

Zayn saunters around the front of the truck. He’s wearing just a pair of shorts, showing off the intricate tattoos that lace his impressive chest. If the girls go for anyone, Zayn is usually their most desired candidate. He could have bedmates every night of every trip if he so desired, but Louis has never seen him look at anyone with interest. In fact, come to think of it, he’s not even certain whether Zayn is straight or gay or something else entirely. 

Harry might go for him. 

Louis squints at Zayn in the sunshine, trying to see him from a gay man’s point of view. Pretty damn attractive, most likely. 

“Louis?”

Oh yes, his cooking crew. “Probably down at the river,” he replies. He returns his focus to his piles of onions and potatoes. What’s meant to go with them? Carrots and peppers, that’s right. Where are his carrots? “I got distracted teaching the cleaners their duties, so I think they took advantage and skived off. Harry’s going to call them for me.”

“Harry?”

“The curly boy, remember? Tall. Green eyes. Sunburned.” 

Zayn looks blank. 

“Tiny yellow swimsuit,” Louis adds as Harry pops out of his tent and lopes towards them. Wow. Very tiny yellow swimsuit, showing off lots of rosy skin and unexpected tattoos. 

“Hi Zayn,” Harry says cheerfully. He stops beside them and fiddles with the towel he’s draped around his neck, obscuring the detail of the tattoos on his chest and stomach from Louis’ scrutiny. He also has a small nylon bag hanging over his shoulder. Camera case? “I just wanted to check the list to see who to call. Is it okay if I go in the truck after we’ve cleaned it?”

Louis looks away from Zayn’s raised eyebrows. “It’s fine.”

He doesn’t look as Harry clambers up the steep steps and leans across to read the list Louis stuck to the bulletin board at the back. 

“Daniel, Rose and Nathan,” Harry announces, dropping back into the sand. “I’ll call them. But, Louis, are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help too? Since there are only three of them in that group?”

Louis has the feeling that if he gives in to Harry once, he’ll lose all control. “I’m sure.” Where’s that bright reassuring smile he found for Harry earlier? “You go and enjoy the river. This is your sole opportunity to experience the longest river in South Africa.”

“It’s the border with Namibia, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Louis confirms. “People like to swim across to the far bank so they can say they swam to Namibia.”

“We’re allowed to do that?”

“It’s desert over there. There’s no one to see. Just make sure you come back again, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t miss your dinner.” Harry grins. He has dimples. How has Louis not noticed that before? He moves closer to poke one of the potatoes. “Last chance for me to help you make it.”

“Go,” Louis says. He makes a shooing motion with his hands as if trying to push Harry towards the river. “Your cooking day will come, then I will make the most of you, I promise. Now get out of here and send me Rose, Danny and Nathan.”

“Okay.” 

One last dimpled grin and Harry heads for the river, the sweat across the back of his wide shoulders glistening in the afternoon sun. It’s too hot to be here cooking. Louis can’t wait for a chance to dive into the river himself as soon as all the meal prep is done.

“So,” Zayn says. He’s still watching Harry, who manages to trip over random rocks twice on his way down to the river. “That’s Harry, is it?”

“Mm-hmm.” How many peppers should Louis use? That’s a decision he should already have made. Maybe he did, but he’s forgotten. “Stop distracting me, Zayn.”

“I’m not your distraction.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He decides on five. The carrots are large, so maybe ten of them will do. “Can you pass me the potato peelers from behind you?”

Zayn digs into the cutlery crate. “Your curly boy.”

“Not mine.”

“He’s one of the musicians you mentioned earlier?”

“He’s the one who just does the songwriting. He’s also a photographer and is about to become a lawyer.”

“A busy man.”

“Yeah.” Louis sets up stations for his three helpers to maximise efficiency. He doesn’t want to keep them from their river adventures for too long, but he’s definitely not preparing all these vegetables himself. “Are you planning to stay and help or are you off to the river?”

“The river for sure.”

“Yeah?” Zayn doesn’t often venture out amongst their passengers, at least not without Louis at his side to keep them at bay. “Take a towel.”

“I don’t need a towel.”

Louis looks up to see Zayn heading for the river, all shoulders and tattoos and glistening sweat, just like Harry. The girls will go mad for him down there. Louis hopes he’s prepared for that. He also wishes he knew whether Zayn was Harry’s type. 

“Cool, man!” His cooking crew have arrived, and Nathan whistles after Zayn as they all watch him make his way serenely across the rocky ground. “That’s some driver we have. You’re a lucky man, Louis, to travel with him.”

That would be a thing, Louis considers, if Nathan’s the one who decides to go after Zayn. At least it would distract him from his interest in Harry. 

“Nathan, mate, peel me some onions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 4 - Harry**

**Orange River, South Africa to the Fish River Canyon, Namibia**

Maybe camping isn’t for him, Harry speculates. Maybe Liam was right and they should have found a relatively cheap safari park and rented a lodge for a month and let that be their African experience for writing Niall’s album. Then he wouldn’t be here, like this, right now.

A fine layer of sand covers everything in his tent. It’s even in his sleeping bag, feeling like thousands of tiny knives digging into his sunburnt skin every time he moves. Yesterday, after their swim to Namibia, he and Liam decided to take one of the canoes to explore the spectacular cliffs further down the river. What they hadn’t taken into account, neither of them being accomplished canoeists, was the difficulty of rowing back into the current or the time it would take them. Nor had they expected the wild sandstorm that blew up out of nowhere, blasting into their eyes and also covering the camp with sand. Fortunately Louis called everyone from the river to rush to their tents to put their windows up and Niall did Harry’s as well as his and Liam’s, but it was too late by then. Harry’s attempts to remedy the problem when he got back only spread the sand into everything he owns. 

Including this chafing, sweltering sleeping bag.

Sunburn and muscles aching from the vigorous rowing are not helping. Not even Louis’ aloe gel helped because it just made all the sand stick to him so it’s even worse. 

Several times during the night he considers venturing out to the showers for a second go at cleaning himself off, but each time he starts wriggling out of his bag the thunder that’s rumbled off and on throughout the night grows ominously louder and he doesn’t want to be stuck on the other side of a rainstorm. Returning to his tent dripping wet will only turn all the sand to mud and the thought of that is intolerable. 

It’s all intolerable, actually. 

He’s too hot. 

He hasn’t slept at all.

His skin hurts.

His arms and back hurt. 

How does Louis live like this constantly? It’s unbearable.

How much longer does he have wait for this to be over? He doesn’t bother to quiet the moan that escapes him as he stretches his arm across to where he knows he left his phone and jars his stiff muscles. Nobody will hear it over the booming thunder and—oh great. Rain finally explodes over the top of the tent and it’s ten minutes before their six am wake up call.

The rain is heavy, battering his tent from every side. 

It doesn’t relent, not even when he hears Louis’ voice calling good morning between crashes of thunder. 

Surely Louis can give them a break, delay their day by a bit to wait it out?

“Come on, guys,” Louis shouts, laughter in his voice. “No need for showers this morning! That’s all taken care of from above. Free service we offer on occasion. And you’ll need it, because it’ll help with the mud.”

Mud. Harry really hates mud. 

At least he’s free of the sleeping bag. He kicks it off him. Shaking it out can wait until tonight when maybe his arms won’t hurt so much with every movement. He puts on his head torch so he can see what he’s doing and stuffs the sleeping bag away in its pouch. If only he could step outside naked into the rain and get dressed once he’s safely inside the truck for the day. 

He unzips his tent to find Niall and Liam emerging from theirs opposite him into the rain-chilled air. 

“Shit morning,” Liam says as rain pounds down around him. 

“Tell that to Louis,” Harry mutters, looking across to where Louis is striking his and Zayn’s tent, head torch bouncing around as he dances in the rain.

Niall starts laughing. “That your rain dance, Louis?” he calls. “Don’t you think it’s already working a bit too well?”

“It’s my thank-you-for-the-rain dance.” Louis dances over towards them through the mud. “Remember to check beneath your tents for scorpions when you roll them up. Carlie and Hayley already found one beneath theirs.”

Harry hasn’t forgotten about the scorpions. “What about the mud? Do we just roll up the tents all wet and muddy?”

Louis nods, raindrops splashing off his wild hair. “We’ll clean them out at tonight’s camp, where hopefully we’ll get a break in the weather. Come on, lads, cheer up. We’re heading into our first new country in a minute. Get those tents put away then come to the kitchen for some tea and breakfast.”

Harry sits slumped in his doorway as Louis bounds off to roll up his tent and drag it to the truck. Almost everyone has their tents down by now and he can’t make himself move. 

“You okay, H?” Liam pauses in his effort to roll up his tent while Niall carries their bags through the rain to the truck. “D’you want me to come over and help you when I’m done?”

“No.” Why is Liam coping with this so much better than he is? Liam’s the one who prefers luxury and Harry’s always been fine with roughing it. “You and Niall go to breakfast. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” 

He needs to stop feeling sorry for himself and get on with it. He pulls on his favourite black Pink Floyd t-shirt to cheer himself up, pairs it with sturdy khaki shorts, and hauls his bag to the truck. His wet fingers slip on the keys for his locker, and his shoulder muscles scream as he lifts his bag up to stuff it away. This is what he gets for volunteering to have one of the top lockers that some of the others couldn’t reach. 

“Good morning, Harry.” The dancer, Annette, turns up at the door as he’s about to go down the steps. Despite being drenched, she’s smiling, hair neatly done up in a French braid. “Did you sleep well?”

“Okay,” he lies. He reaches to take her bag so she doesn’t have to balance it while she climbs the steps. “How about you?”

“Very well.”

“The thunder didn’t bother you?”

“It drowned out Rolf’s snoring.” 

“I do not snore.” Rolf comes up behind her. “Harry, good morning. We are on truck packing duty this morning so we have to put away the tents and the mattresses. Zayn said it’s all right to put them away wet, we do not have to dry them.”

Packing duty. What perfect timing.

“Great,” Harry says. “Let me go fetch my tent.”

“Remember the scorpions.”

“I will.”

He jumps down, feet squelching in the mud. Although the storm hasn’t eased, it’s getting marginally brighter as somewhere behind the clouds the sun must be rising. That will help with scorpion spotting. Mud oozes over his flipflops as he trudges back to the remaining tents. The packing list suggested by the company did not mention wellies, but they would’ve been very welcome around now. He should tell them to add it to their list for the sake of future travellers. 

Shit, where has his tent gone?

He stands, flummoxed, peering through the grey rain. Was it washed away? He’s certain this is where he left it. 

“I rolled it up for you while you were in the truck.”

He jerks around. “Louis?”

“Hey.” Louis looks like a ghost, no longer wearing his head torch, white t-shirt plastered almost invisibly against his skin by the constant torrent of water. He waves. “You all right, mate?”

“I’m fine.” Louis took care of his tent for him? “You—” What does he even say? “Uh, thank you.”

“No trouble. Figured you might be sore from your paddling yesterday.”

Harry’s mind flashes down a very different route than Louis intended and he thanks the heavens for largely wiping him from Louis’ sight. It would be too painfully embarrassing if Louis saw the blush he knows is heating his cheeks from words Louis meant something else with entirely. “Thanks.” No, he already thanked Louis. “Yeah,” he says instead. “I am, like…sore.”

“Your tent’s already at the truck, so why don’t you come along for some hot coffee and a break from the rain?”

Harry wants nothing more than hot coffee and a break from the rain. “Can’t. I’m on packing duty this morning.”

Louis winces. “Shit. Sorry.”

“I’ll be fine.” At least he doesn’t have to roll up his muddy tent and force it into its bag. “Were there scorpions?”

Already heading for the kitchen, Louis turns back. “Were there what?”

“Scorpions. Beneath my tent.”

“No. You were all clear. Lucky; at least three others found them.”

Good to know. It would’ve been easier to fall asleep if he’d known for certain there was nothing crawling around beneath him. “Thanks.” Pushing wet curls off his face, he nearly loses his head torch in the process. “Oops. I’ll be there for coffee as soon as I can.”

Louis disappears into the rain with a flash of a grin and Harry squelches back to the truck to load tents with Rolf, leaving Rachel and Carlie to sort out the mattresses inside. It doesn’t take too long and the exercise is probably good for his stiff muscles, but the cold rain has chilled his skin so much that even loading tents hasn’t warmed him up by the time the four of them slip and slide their way back through the mud to the outdoor kitchen. Everyone’s pressed close together beneath the small shelter and Harry has to fight his way through towards the tables. Which side has Louis set up the coffee this morning?

“One black coffee for the gentleman.” Louis appears in front of him with a large steaming mug. “I’ve just poured it so it may be too hot.”

“Never too hot.” Harry downs half of it in one gulp, relishing the burn down his throat. “You make good coffee, Louis. Thank you.”

“You know where to find me. I’ll be here every morning at your disposal.” Louis gives him a wink, then follows it up with a formal bow. “Or perhaps I should say: at your service, sir.”

Harry shivers despite the warmth of his coffee. “What about you? Have you had your coffee?”

“I’m a tea man myself. And, yes, it’s the first thing I do every morning. Sets me up for the day.” Louis’ grin is bright enough to make up for the dreary, dark morning. “I think your friends have your breakfast over there, if you want to join them.”

Harry looks where he points. Liam waves and gestures down at a bowl of cereal. Harry waves back an acknowledgement. “Do we have to make sandwiches for lunch today?” he asks Louis.

“No, we’re stopping at a resort called Ai-Ais for lunch. There are thermal springs there, they’ll be great for helping your sore muscles. I’ll make lunch when we get there.” Louis watches him finish his coffee then reaches out to take the mug. “You want more?”

“I shouldn’t.” But he shivers again and Louis catches it.

“I’ll bring it over to you. Go eat your breakfast.”

*

An hour later, its time for their first border experience. On the far side of the swollen Orange River, everyone piles out of the truck onto the rocky sand outside the Namibian border post, fumbling for passports. Harry had hoped to catch some sleep before facing a border crossing, but the turbulent road back through the sandstone canyons kept everyone jarringly awake. Louis told them it’s called the African Massage, and they can expect a lot more of it in the future.

“This is brilliant,” Niall says as they follow Louis across the sand towards a low building with a bright yellow roof. He gestures at the empty desert that surrounds them as far as they can see. It’s just barren ground, greyish brown beneath the heavy clouds, stretching out to distant brown hills that fade into the mist, punctured by pools of muddy water from the abnormal rains they heard about at the vineyards. “There’s just nothing here. Nothing at all. I want to write a song about this.”

“About the desert?” Liam asks. 

“My heart is empty as a desert,” Niall starts to sing. 

“No.”

Niall tries another one. “Without you, my life is empty as a desert—”

“No.”

“Harry, back me up.”

“Spaces, everywhere I look,” Harry offers. “Emptiness, after—um—everything you took?”

“We could do something with that,” Liam nods. “Keep thinking along that theme.”

If he doesn’t fall asleep. 

They crowd into the tiny building with the rest of their travel companions. Louis is at the front with the officials and he has them laughing as they process each person into Namibia. There’s a slight delay with Rose, but Louis is right there in the middle of it as they sort out the issue with her paperwork and quickly the smiles return.

Louis is really good at his job. He loves it as well, from what Harry can tell. It’s enviable, that kind of fulfilment in a job. It’s what Harry believes his chosen path in law will provide for him, when he eventually gets there. He can’t wait until he’s in a position to help people, to protect them, the vulnerable ones who can’t protect themselves. He wants to stand for them, fight for them, make sure they’re taken care of.

But will he be as good at it as he hopes to be? As Louis is at shepherding groups of strangers up and down the southern half of Africa? 

Watching Louis charm the officers who come to inspect Shamwari outside, though, he figures Louis would probably be good at whatever he chose to do, whatever he felt passionate about. He has that capable air about him, a confidence that Harry needs to have as a lawyer and currently lacks. 

Liam thinks he should be a photographer, but how will that help anyone? Harry doesn’t have a passion for taking hard-hitting photographs of controversial or revelatory subject matter. He likes the little things. The sun glinting off a puddle in the distance. A patch of rainbow in a blackened sky. The brightness of a butterfly in the heat of summer. Of what use are puddles, rainbows and summer butterflies? He’s developed some skill taking photographs of Niall out of necessity, but he doesn’t fool himself that he’s especially gifted at it, nor does he have any interest in pursuing photography of musical subjects, which is where he might be able to carve out a career. There are plenty of people to do that.

Not so many protecting people in the industry. 

As Zayn swings them back onto the dirt road that disappears into the misty desert, he contemplates Africa passing by and considers maybe this trip is a test, a way for him to prove his own toughness to himself. He wouldn’t say he’s doing the best job so far, but he has another forty days to show himself, and Louis, that he has what it takes.

*

Within two hours, the endless stretches of grey sand and pools of rainwater transform into dark, rocky hills that bubble up out of the ground. Zayn slows Shamwari as he eases her through the mud around tight bends, weaving between the hills until a large sign made out of white-painted rocks announces, “Welcome to Ai-Ais.” 

The road opens up into a small valley where a gentle brown river drifts past bright green reeds at the base of stony hills on one side and thatched chalets press up against sheer rock cliffs on the other, interspersed with tennis courts and swimming pools and the odd tent. Other than a couple of small patches of grass around the chalets, the ground is muddy sand covered with large puddles from the morning rain. There’s not a single person in sight as Zayn brings Shamwari to a halt beside a low stone wall. 

“Look at you, you’re all awake!” Louis bounds up through the little door at the front and Harry swivels around to look at him. His hair dried in a mess, half of it sticking straight up, possibly because he was sleeping pressed up against his window. His white t-shirt is still splashed with mud from this morning, but no one else has fared much better. 

“Welcome to the hot springs resort of Ai-Ais.” It sounds like Eye-eyes. “We’ll spend a couple of hours here for you to enjoy the hot springs and the pools, and have a bit of lunch.”

Everyone cheers. After all the bouncing around on the dirt roads, Harry thinks hot springs sound very wonderful indeed. 

“Cooking group,” Louis continues, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for your fun since I need your help for lunch preparation. The rest of you, be back at the truck in about an hour for lunch.”

Liam’s face falls. “Shit, I’m on cooking today.”

“That sucks, man.” Niall looks at him sympathetically. “You’ll still get a chance at the pools after lunch, I reckon.”

Liam stretches his arms above his head, wincing. “I guess this is what it’ll be like the whole trip, luck of the draw.”

“I’ll do your cooking,” Harry volunteers. All that slinging heavy tents around in the rain with Rolf this morning helped loosen up his muscles, even though it hurt at the time. He’s not hurting now nearly as badly as it looks like Liam is. “You go with Niall to the springs and I’ll go afterwards if there’s time.”

“I can’t ask that of you, mate.”

“You didn’t, I offered. Besides, I was the one who insisted we keep going down the river when you wanted to turn back, so it’s my fault we had so far to row back against the current.”

Liam’s happy smile is worth the sacrifice. “You’re a good man, H.”

Around the side of the truck, Louis is already extricating his trusty steel tables to set up in the sand. “You’re headed in the wrong direction, Harry.”

Harry grabs the other end of the one Louis is erecting and helps steady it while Louis secures the legs so the warm breeze won’t unsettle it. “I’m here to help with lunch.”

Table secure, Louis stands up to get the next one out of the truck. “Last I heard, you were on truck packing this morning.”

“I, uh, swapped with Liam.” Harry helps him secure that one before unloading the crates of cutlery and plates and cups. “His arms are in a bad way after I made him row so far yesterday so I said I’d do his cooking duty for him for lunch.”

Louis surveys him. “And how are yours doing?”

“Better than Liam’s. What are we making for lunch?”

“A kind of Mexican salad.” 

Harry feels his body perk up at the thought of that. “Sounds great. What does it entail?”

“A lot of chopping, mostly.” Louis hauls up a crate filled with salad ingredients onto one of the tables. “We have clean water to wash all of this in, then we chop it, add in some tins of beans and corn, some blocks of cheese, then for the finishing touch?” He bends down to root around in another crate, emerging with two large packets of Doritos in his hand. “We crumble these on top.”

It’s the perfect meal for a day that’s heating up by the second, despite the cloud cover and remnants of rain. Harry collects the water from yet another hidden compartment beneath the truck and sets to washing dozens of tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and lettuce leaves. When the rest of Liam’s duty group shows up, Vicky turns out to have taken some fancy chef classes in Brisbane and is a whiz with a knife so Louis assigns the tomatoes and cucumbers to her. Yolanda volunteers to deal with the onions and peppers, Marya claims the cheese, leaving Harry to tear up the lettuce leaves. Louis produces some avocados, which are larger than any Harry’s ever seen in Europe. 

“Aren’t those really expensive?” he asks as he watches Louis deftly halve them all. 

“Not in Africa.” Louis starts scooping out the pits. “But I’ll put them in a separate bowl because there are always people who don’t like them and they’re not the kind of thing you can easily pull out of a salad like, say, onion is.”

“I love avocado.” Especially ones as perfectly ripe as these seem to be. 

“Could’ve guessed that.” Louis pulls a face. 

“You don’t?”

“Can’t stand the stuff.”

“You’re missing out, Lulu.”

“I’m perfectly content with that, Harriet.”

“We get great avocados in Australia.”

Yolanda’s voice jolts Harry. That’s right, there are other people here. He forces himself to look away from Louis’ bright eyes to return to his abandoned lettuce.

“Do you get them in England?” she continues.

“Unfortunately,” Louis says. 

“I’m like you, Louis,” Marya puts in. “Never seen the point of the stuff myself.”

Louis winks at her. “I hear you’re missing out, Marya.”

Louis may be winking at someone else, but he’s using Harry’s joke, and Harry laughs along with the others. Once his lettuce is finished and he’s opened the necessary cans, he unpacks the canvas folding chairs to set out on a patchy section of grass while Louis continues to banter with the others. Louis isn’t only here for him, he reminds himself. He has no right to dominate the conversation with Louis just because they get on well. No right to feel cheated when Louis pays attention to the other passengers because they deserve just as much of Louis as Harry does. More, perhaps, since Harry has claimed so much already. He needs to stop being so greedy just because he likes Louis. 

If he and Louis had met in university, say, Harry is certain they’d have become good friends. Did Louis even go to university? He said he’s been doing this for five years and he’s only twenty-five now, so probably not. He wonders what Louis might have wanted to study. How did he end up doing this instead? 

“We’ll eat in about fifteen minutes.” Louis appears around the truck and perches on one of the chairs. “I thought you might want to take a few pictures around the resort before lunch so that you’ll be free to relax in the hot springs afterwards.”

“Oh, I don’t want to leave you with all the work.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s mostly done. You lot were right efficient in the kitchen, some of the best help I’ve had in years. You wouldn’t believe how long this meal takes to prepare with some people.” He pulls off the cap that’s been holding his hair down. “But wear this. Even though it’s overcast today, the sun is still strong here in the desert. You really don’t want sunburn on top of sunburn.”

Harry hesitates. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Take it.” Louis wiggles the cap back and forth. 

“It’s my own fault I didn’t buy one in Cape Town—”

“Harry, take it.”

Louis’ voice is implacable, and Harry reaches for the cap. It’s black, brightly embroidered on the front with a colourful outline of Table Mountain. “Thank you.”

“Are you wearing sunscreen?”

“Uh....” Harry thinks back to this morning in the rain. “Possibly not?”

“Put some on your face and then get out there with your camera. I want to see what you take.”

Raising his arm to place the cap on his head, Harry suppresses a wince. He has to adjust it for his curls, but it gives his eyes instant relief from the glare of the white clouds above. “I’ll just be taking pictures of plants and rocks and shit.”

“And I want to see every one.” Louis reaches out to lightly smack Harry on the bum. “Now go.”

*

He gets carried away with the bizarre intricacies of the desert resort. Amongst the stones down by the river are large chunks of what look like quartz crystals and Harry spends more than half his allotted time getting close-ups of them. The river itself is fascinating, an oasis amidst the grey hills of solid rock. Several spiky trees were blown over in the storm, the unexpectedly drenched sand unable to hold them, and he investigates their exposed roots. 

That’s a little what he feels like so far on this trip, he thinks as he tries to capture their vulnerability, like he’s been pulled out of the solid ground he’s always known, uprooted. Bared. It’s why Louis keeps thinking he has to look after Harry’s basic needs, because he must see Harry this way. 

He photographs some solid palm trees, broad and securely established beside the sodden tennis courts. This is what he needs to be like. 

By the time he wanders back to the truck, lunch is half over. “We saved you some,” Niall calls, patting the canvas seat beside him, on which a plate of salad is precariously balanced. “Louis said you might be a little late.”

Harry flushes and gestures to his camera hanging around his neck. “I was taking pictures.”

“He told us. Did you see the swimming pools? I want to go in them after lunch to cool off a bit.”

“Were the springs too hot?”

“They were perfect,” Liam says. “Thanks again for swapping with me. I got some great footage of Niall in the water for YouTube.”

“I didn’t think this through.” Niall shakes his head as Harry sits down. “I should have spent the festive season working on developing my abs instead of working on covering them up.”

“You look great, Niall,” Harry assures him. 

Niall looks speculatively down at his stomach. “You think so?”

“’m positive.”

“I should’ve been in the gym too,” says Liam. “I can’t believe my arms were such a mess after yesterday’s rowing. I’m an insult to my university self.”

Harry swallows his first mouthful of salad. It’s delicious. “I was thinking we should talk to Rolf and Annette. They’ll have to keep in shape while on this trip and maybe they have a plan. Sitting on the truck for hours every day won’t be healthy for any of us.”

Liam looks across at Louis, who’s sitting on one of his tables, bare legs swinging. “How the fuck does he look like that? Not to mention his driver—”

“Zayn.”

“—Zayn, thank you, Harry. They’re both ridiculously fit for what they do.”

“Louis lifts a lot of tables and crates every day,” Harry points out. “I helped him set them up earlier and they’re not light. I don’t know what Zayn does, though.”

At the moment Zayn is sprawled on a chair behind Louis’ table. His cap obscures his face so they can’t see his expression while he eats. He looks supremely unaware of the loud conversation Louis is holding with Danny and Duncan right in front of him about the canyon they’re scheduled to see later this afternoon and how many days it takes to hike it from end to end. 

Harry wonders if Louis ever has to remind Zayn about wearing sunscreen. On the other hand, Zayn’s skin is dark enough that the sun wouldn’t be as threatening to him as it is to Harry. Even Louis’ skin is far darker than Harry’s, tanned rich gold. If only Harry could tan like that instead of turning into a tomato. 

Louis catches him staring. Their eyes hold for a moment before Harry wrenches his away. He really shouldn’t be staring at their tour leader like that. The last thing he wants to do is make Louis uncomfortable, especially since Harry so unnecessarily informed him that he’s gay. 

He throws himself into a conversation about the desert lyrics that Niall developed into something quite useful during their morning drive, but a few minutes later, he feels a tap on the shoulder.

“Hey, guys.” Louis leaves his hand resting on Harry’s shoulder as though it belongs there. “How did you find the hot springs?”

“Very soothing.” Liam rolls his shoulders, demonstrating the painlessness of the movement now. “Wait until you try it, Harry, and you’ll see.”

“I’m gonna head over there now while Danny’s crew washes up.” Louis’ hand trails down the centre of Harry’s back. “Just came to get Harriet here.”

Is he blushing? Please, God, let him not be blushing. Harry trains his gaze on the cliff rising above them, trying to ignore the heat rippling out from his spine, but it settles low within him as Louis doesn’t remove his hand but leaves it hovering just above the waistband of Harry’s khaki shorts. 

“Ready, Harry? Have you got something you can swim in underneath these?”

Louis tugs at the waistband and Harry frantically thinks about being drenched by the icy rain from this morning. “Yeah,” he manages to squeak out. 

“Right, come on, lad.”

“I’ll just—um—my dishes—”

“I can take that.” Liam reaches for his plate and Niall plucks his cup of orange juice out of his hand.

“It’ll do you good, H,” he says with a wink that suggests he knows exactly what’s happening to Harry. “Enjoy yourselves, you two.”

Instead of moving away as they walk across to the building containing the warm pools, Louis keeps his hand low on Harry’s back, guiding him over the muddy grass and out of the glare of the clouds. The darkness indoors blinds Harry for a moment and it’s only Louis’ quick grasp of his belt that keeps him upright when he trips over an invisible step. 

“You all right there?”

“’m fine.” 

He looks across to give Louis a reassuring smile. Louis is close. Right there. His eyes are the colour of the summer sky over Cape Town, bright and sparkly. As Harry watches, long lashes sweep down and up again.

“Sure you’re okay?”

Fuck, he’s staring again. “Sure.” 

The room Louis leads him to is deserted. It’s long, tiled in cream beneath a thatched roof. Empty loungers look out over the curved pools, the steamy air thick with sulfur. Louis stops beside a low, wide bench. “Looks like we have the place to ourselves, Curly. The rest of the cooking team said they planned to go swimming, so they’re not coming. We can leave our clothes here.”

With that, he starts stripping off. Up comes the thin white t-shirt. Down come his baggy cargo shorts, and he casually kicks off his flipflops. All that golden skin turns towards a frozen Harry.

“C’mon, love, don’t be shy. There’s no one in here.”

No one except for Louis, who’s left in something far too small and tight-fitting for Harry to even allow himself to look. 

He jerks away. “’m coming.”

Louis doesn’t considerately take himself off to the waters while Harry tugs off his own t-shirt. He stays right there, waiting. Is he watching? Is he watching Harry strip the way Harry watched him strip? Harry shifts around a little just in case. There are things happening that Louis definitely mustn’t see. Fuck, this is awkward. He shouldn’t have swapped with Liam, should have come here in the safety of the crowd, when he’d have stripped off without a second’s hesitation or an inkling of discomfort. 

“We didn’t bring towels,” he says, looking around in the hopes that the resort might provide some. 

“We’ll dry off quickly enough outside,” Louis says, unconcerned. “You ready?”

“Lead the way.”

A bright grin lights up Louis’ face before he thankfully turns his back on Harry at last. He skips across the tiles and Harry takes his first deep breath since Louis flung off his shirt. 

Except then Louis starts climbing the steps up to the entry to the pools. 

It’s unfair is what it is. It’s not Harry’s fault he likes bums. It’s certainly not his fault that Louis has the best bum Harry’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not his fault that he can’t keep his eyes off it as Louis sashays up the steps, disorientating himself so that instead of stepping neatly out of his shorts he trips on them and slams face first into the stone flooring. 

“Harry!”

Pain rockets through his jaw as he hurries to scramble upright. Strong hands grip his shoulders, steadying him as he rises woozily to his feet. 

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” His vision is hazy, and he blinks several times to bring Louis’ face into focus. 

The bright blue eyes are sharp with concern. “You scraped your face.” Louis’ fingers ghost over where his jaw throbs. “I have a first aid kit—”

“No!” Harry jerks away. 

Louis drops his hands. “You’re bleeding. I need to—”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t have to worry about his hard-on any longer, but now his face is flaming from embarrassment and he still can’t let Louis see him. “Let’s just get in the water. It’s just a scrape, nothing to worry about.”

“Harry—”

“We don’t have time.” He touches his own fingers to his jaw. Not too much blood, just a couple of speckles, really. He’ll have a nasty bruise, but that’s no big deal. “It’s fine.” He dares a glance over his shoulder at Louis’s concerned face as he strides towards the pool Louis leapt out of to come to his rescue, then focuses carefully on the rail so he doesn’t trip over the steps. Honestly. He grew out of constantly falling over years ago. He knows how to use his body now, how to not trip over his own feet. This is ridiculous that he’s regressing to teenage shortcomings just because he’s developing an inappropriate crush on another straight boy. He grew out of that too, damn it. 

The water is hot when he plunges into the pool. Maybe it’s too hot for a day this warm, but it’s a welcome excuse for his still burning face and he sinks gratefully into it up to his shoulders before he turns around, catching Louis halfway down the steps into the pool, looking like he’s torn between wanting to join Harry and wanting to snatch him up and carry him off to the first aid kit in the truck. 

Harry wouldn’t be averse to being snatched—no. No thinking like that allowed. Not around Louis. 

“This is very relaxing,” he says, spreading his arms out and leaning his head back against the wall. Steam rises off his shoulders, the air thick and damp in comparison to the desert outside. 

Stepping chest deep into the water, Louis flickers a smile at him. “I thought you’d like it.” He moves through the water without ducking into it the way Harry did. 

“ _It is what it is_ ,” Harry reads as Louis reaches him, sweat glistening over the elaborate letters of the tattoo curved across his chest beneath his collar bones. “I thought your tattoo just said _what_.” That’s all he’s been able to see through the t-shirts Louis has been wearing. 

_“What?”_ Louis shakes his head. “Why would I go around with _what_ on my chest?”

Harry considers as he settles himself on a little ledge beneath the water. “I think if I had to pick one word to go on my chest that everyone would see, I’d pick _why_.”

“Why?”

“Exactly. That’s what I’m always thinking, so why not display it on my chest for everyone to see? Save me the trouble of having to ask it.”

With a ripple of water, Louis pulls himself onto another ledge, a couple of feet away. He rests his arms on the stone behind him, above the water, and Harry tries not to look at the lithe muscles the pose reveals. “So what are you wondering _why_ about right now?”

That’s an easy one. Harry starts listing them. “Why this spring appears here in the middle of the desert like this. Why here and why not somewhere else? Why we as humans love the sensation of hot water so much. Why I’m enjoying this even though it’s so warm outside. Why hot springs always smell of sulfur. Why some people don’t like avocado when it’s delicious. Why there aren’t more people at this resort today. Why they picked these particular plants to be in here. Why I fell over when I thought I’d outgrown that habit. Why your eyes look more blue inside than they do outdoors.”

Louis’ laugh, high and delighted, interrupts him, much to his relief, because fuck knows where that train of thought was about to lead to. “You weren’t kidding!”

“Nope.” Watching Louis laugh is almost as intoxicating as watching him from behind. Harry blinks hard and looks away. “And that’s only a small selection of what’s going on in my head right now.”

“Does it ever stop?”

“Rarely. Usually I have to keep putting most of them on hold while I try to figure out one or two of them, so even in dull moments there are plenty just waiting for their chance to be aired.”

Louis shakes his head. “Must be exhausting.”

“Aren’t you curious?” Harry turns back to him, shifting on his ledge so he can see Louis without having to twist his spine. “Doing the job you do, you must see so many amazing things. Don’t you wonder about them all?”

Louis shrugs. “My philosophy is on my chest. Things are what they are. Me wondering about them won’t change them.”

“But, Louis,” Harry leans forward, “asking the questions and finding out the answers might change _you._ ”

Louis’ eyes meet his across the steam. They look uncertain, like he’s considering Harry’s point and not finding it a comfortable one to contemplate, then his usual bright smile flashes back onto his face. “Harriet,” he says in a reproving voice, “am I not good enough for you just the way I am?”

The use of the name Harriet tells Harry that Louis wants to leave the deep waters they’ve entered and return to the shallows of joking and sarcasm. That’s all right. Another time Harry might push, but he’s out of his depth enough as it is with Louis right now, so he smiles back. “Of course you are, Lulu.”

Louis’ smile falters. “My, um, my—some people call me Lou. L-O-U. So you’re not that far out with that name, if you like it.”

“You want me to call you Lou?”

“I’m saying you can.” With that, Louis slips off his ledge into the water. “I’m gonna float a bit.”

*

Their campsite for the night is a further two hours’ drive from Ai-Ais. While Niall and Liam work on developing the desert lyric Harry came up with, Niall even pulling out his guitar to experiment with some melodies, Harry struggles to concentrate. His mind won’t let go of images of Louis—the expanse of golden skin when Louis took off his shirt, Louis’ full, round bum in his tight underpants, the elegance of the black script spelling out his philosophy, the flicker in his eyes when he offered for Harry to call him Lou. If he tries to write lyrics now, they’re going to come out completely wrong and expose to Niall and Liam what he needs to keep very deeply hidden indeed. 

Mud saturates today’s campsite, which makes for some hilarious video shots for Liam of Harry and Niall erecting their tents. The laughter helps shake Harry out of his contemplative mood, and he’s able to join in work on the desert song as they head out again to explore the Fish River Canyon. A hundred miles long, it’s one of the largest canyons in the world, and he’s excited to see it. 

Louis and Zayn drop them right on the edge of the gorge to wander along the top until they bump into the truck again. It’s more spectacular than he imagined, magnificent golden cliffs dropping beneath them endlessly, shaped by the seemingly insignificant trickle of water that is the Fish River far below. The desert stretches either side of it, devoid of human habitation for hundreds of miles in any direction. 

Harry’s never encountered such isolation.

It’s spectacular, especially with the backdrop of distant lightning storms illuminating black clouds on the horizon as the sun plunges down. 

“This’ll make a brilliant shot for our ‘the making of’ video,” Liam enthuses as he takes in the scene. “Such a good thing Niall brought his guitar. Let’s drop behind everyone else, and, H, you walk ahead with Niall for a bit and do some of that chorus.”

“You left me with an empty heart,” Niall’s voice soars as he tries out one of the melodies they worked on earlier. 

“All the spaces you used to fill,” Harry harmonises as they amble along the lip of the canyon. He kicks at a stone lying on the edge and he and Niall pause to watch it hurtle down into the depths and disappear. 

“When you see shit like this,” Niall says instead of singing the next line, “this is why we’re here. Everyone knows about the Grand Canyon but I’ve never heard about this place. Just fucking look at it.”

It’s immense, and they’re tiny specks on the edge of it. Harry suppresses a shudder. There’s so much world out there. Everything’s so big and he’s such a minuscule part of it.

“You can hike the length of it along the river.” Liam comes up behind them, no longer filming. “It takes five days and you’re only allowed to do it in winter. One day I’m coming back to hike it.”

Harry tries to imagine what it would be like trudging for days along the twisting valley floor, following the trickle that glints silver as it catches the evening light. How silent it must be down there. “It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist,” he says. “This is ancient. It’s been here for hundreds of millions of years, regardless of what’s going on anywhere else.”

They fall silent as they continue to walk along the edge, every so often kicking at a piece of shale to watch it bounce down the rocky cliffs. The setting sun bathes the canyon with its fire and Harry grabs for his camera. How is he supposed to capture something this grand? How does he use mere photographs to convey the sensation of enormity and ancient timelessness? This is why he can’t be a professional photographer. He doesn’t have the skill to communicate through his camera the way he longs to. 

Ahead of him, Liam and Niall have picked up the chorus again for the song that will likely be titled _Empty Heart_. Harry feels completely empty as he contemplates the massive canyon, wrung through by the need to communicate its essence to the rest of the world and his utter inability to do so. He takes picture after picture, changing angles and lighting and perspectives, but none of it is good enough, nothing can do justice to the magnificence before him. 

The experience of a grand canyon at sunset in the midst of a desert in flood. 

He isn’t equal to the task.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” 

He’s sitting cross-legged on the edge, and his jerk around dislodges a little shower of shingle. 

Louis laughs, the sound tinkling out into the emptiness. “Sorry, I thought you heard me coming up behind you.” He squats down beside Harry, a glass extended in his hand. “Sundowners?”

“You’re handing out alcohol?”

“Grape juice. Close as we can get. There are cheese and biscuits set up too, if you join us at the truck. It’s a little surprise we like to arrange for when you finish your canyon walk.”

The grape juice is cold and refreshing. Harry swallows most of it in a couple of gulps. “Thank you.”

“The guys said you got left behind taking pictures?” Louis’ voice goes up at the end, probably since Harry’s camera is nowhere to be seen, snugly back in its pouch after he ran out of ways to use it. 

“How do I photograph…” He gestures down at the canyon spread out below them. “This.”

“True.” With a little chuckle, Louis drops from his crouch to sit cross-legged next to Harry and considers the view. “I always think it looks like the moon must look, you know? I’ll never forget the first time I saw it. I was in the back of the truck on one of Lauren’s trips and I honestly didn’t think Africa would impress me that much. I loved the sea, surfing, and the interior didn’t interest me, you know? 

“It was a clear sunny day, not like today, no water anywhere, no little shoots of green like you see around now, just vast, empty greyish brown sand and rocks, dead flat except for the little rocky hills every so often. As we bounced along, I wondered if this is what the moon looked like to the astronauts. So boring. Nothing there. After all that effort they put in to get there and then it’s just—nothing. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, the ground dropped away right next to the truck and this gigantic canyon opened up beside us. I knew we were visiting a canyon but I’d pictured something small and picturesque, not this massive, twisting crater. And I remember thinking that you never know. Even where you think there’s nothing, the most astonishing thing can crop up out of nowhere and blow your mind. Change everything.” 

He shifts, takes back Harry’s now empty glass and runs his fingers over it as he gazes across the canyon towards the black clouds playing over the setting sun. “Now when we drive through the southern Namibian desert, I feel like it has a secret. It knows this is here. Even if people don’t come here, don’t see it, the desert knows its here.”

“And now so do we.” Harry thinks he understands what Louis is trying to say. That’s the impact of the canyon and why he’s unable to capture it, the shock of it amidst the desert plains. 

Louis turns to look at him. In the twilight, his eyes are as dark as the storm clouds. “I think about this place often,” he says. “It’s always here, wherever we are, whatever we’re doing. It’s always here just like this. I think about it and how it changed the way I viewed the desert, the way I viewed the entire interior of Africa, and—” He shakes his head, drawing his knees up to hug them to his chest. “It’s probably silly, but the fact of its existence helps me be more aware, more alert. More prepared, maybe. At any time, something might come along and rock my world.”

“It’s not silly,” Harry says quietly. “Lou, it’s not silly at all.”

Louis shrugs uncomfortably, sort of smiles then presses his lips together as though he doesn’t want any more words to escape him. 

Harry could sit and listen to his ideas all night.

“Would you mind if I took a picture of you?” he asks impulsively. “Now, before the sun sets and it gets too dark. A picture of you and the canyon?”

“I don’t know why you’d want me. Wouldn’t you rather I took a picture of you with it instead?”

Harry’s already fumbling to get his camera out of its bag. “No. Me being here isn’t my memory. What I want to remember of tonight is—” Louis. Louis and his canyon-like impact on Harry’s uncertain little world. “Please?”

“Okay.” Louis laughs his awkwardness as he gets to his knees. “How do you want me?”

Like this. Shit, just like this. Harry’s imagination flashes down the possibilities of what they could do here if it were just the two of them, if the others weren’t a few feet further along the rim, if it were only him and Louis and the sunset at the edge of the world. 

“Like you were,” he directs. Standing up, he takes several steps back. “With your knees up, yeah, looking out over the canyon. Can you turn a little sideways? I don’t want just your back.”

Louis scoots around on the shale, pulls his legs up and rests his looped arms over his knees. “Like this?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Harry’s already snapping away. “Think about what you told me. About the moon, and the disappointment, and the secret. Maybe they just landed in a boring place. Other astronauts later went to more interesting places, they stayed for a lot longer, too. We don’t really think about them or know their names, or bother about them much, but they had more exciting experiences up there. Like this. Maybe one of them found something like this. The moon’s version.”

“Seeing Earth from the moon, though,” Louis comments without changing his position or even moving his head, something Niall never manages when Harry’s trying to document his activities. “That must’ve been pretty mind-blowing. Talk about a completely new perspective on something.”

That’s it. This is Harry’s photograph. This one, right now, of Louis silhouetted against the sunset, the jagged outcrops of rock below him glowing in the dying rays of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 5 - Louis**

**Fish River Canyon to Sesriem, Namibia**

It’s another tough night for Louis’ campers, everyone covered in mud from slipping up and down between the tents and where Louis set up the kitchen beside the truck, the cold showers not working much better than the rain in terms of aiding cleanliness. Louis never minds sleeping in the rain, the drumming of the drops on canvas blanking out his mind and easing him happily into sleep, but he makes pancakes for a breakfast treat to cheer everyone up. 

He also forces himself not to produce any personalised coffee. He’s never singled out a passenger before for special treatment. This is unprecedented and unacceptable. Totally unprofessional. 

It’s a ten-hour drive today to their Sesriem campsite, including a stop along the way for him to do a grocery run. That reminds him, he needs to check his list for any birthdays coming up. His pre-trip analysis revealed none in January, which has ten days left, but he made a mental note to do further investigation once in Namibia. Usually he has a detailed plan for each one, where they’ll be when they fall, what ingredients he’s likely to be able to scrounge up for some kind of celebratory meal. 

May, November, August, April, February—the fifth, Duncan.

“Where’ll we be on the fifth of February?” he asks Zayn.

Zayn doesn’t glance away from the gravel road he’s following through the unseasonal golden desert grass. “How the fuck would I know?”

“You’re the one taking us there.”

Zayn doesn’t deign to reply, so Louis fishes in the door beside him for his schedule. “Livingstone. Oh perfect, that’s the night we’ll have our end-of-tour booze cruise for those leaving at Vic Falls. Built-in party for his thirty-fifth. Makes things easy.” He returns to his list of birth dates. “October, May, August, April, February—twentieth, Yolanda.” Another check of the schedule. “Yes! That’s our first night in Zanzibar; general party on the beach.” Again, nothing special required from him. This is turning into one of the easiest groups ever. “Let’s see about the rest of you. December, June, early January, July, March first—but she’ll have left us by then. September, August and our final February. Shit.”

“What?”

“It’s Harry.”

“He’s having a birthday on the trip?”

“Our first. Weekend after next. So, the Okavango.” He won’t even see Harry on his birthday. No, wait, it’s the day Harry will return from his Okavango excursion. 

“Maun has good shopping.”

Maun, the gateway town into the tourist extravaganza that is the Okavango Delta, has plenty of westernised shopping. Coming up with ingredients for a cake will be—well, a piece of cake. Louis smirks at his own joke, knowing better than to share it with Zayn, whose only response would be a death glare. Louis needs to find some new friends who appreciate his sense of humour, really.

“That’s it for birthdays?” Zayn asks when Louis says no more.

“For the current tour group, yes. I haven’t received the info on the Vic Falls to Nairobi lot yet.”

“How far’s your boy going?”

“He’s not my boy, Zayn. He’s a passenger, just like any other.”

“Yeah?”

“And I will treat his birthday just like I do all other birthdays on trips.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Oh, true. It’s only Louis’ mind that’s stuck on the concept of Harry’s birthday. He’s turning twenty-three, Louis noted. Louis spent his twenty-third birthday in the Serengeti National Park trying to save tents and belongings from being crushed by a herd of stampeding elephants. Good times. 

“Louis.”

“What?”

“I asked you how far your curly boy is going.”

Those curls are something else, especially the way they scrunched up around Harry’s face in the humidity of the hot springs yesterday, making Louis want to tug on them to see if they bounce. But getting his hands on Harry’s hair is a bad, bad idea, and he strikes it from his mind. “Nairobi,” he says. “They’re going all the way to Nairobi.”

“Ah.”

“ _Ah_ what?”

“Just ah.”

“You can’t just say _ah_ and expect to leave it there. Not when you say it so insinuatingly.”

“I didn’t insinuate anything.”

“That _ah_ insinuated plenty. There’s nothing to see here, Zayn, so you and your _ah_ can just stop right there.”

“Is that right?”

“In two days we’ll be at Swakopmund where I have a facetiming date with Michelle.”

“Interesting that’s where your thoughts go.”

“My thoughts are on my girlfriend, where they should be.”

“I noticed.”

Louis glares at his best friend, who is cleverly avoiding his gaze by pretending to need to concentrate abnormally hard on the herd of springbok leaping along beside them. “I’m straight, you know.”

“Mm,” Zayn says.

His sexuality is not a topic frequently under discussion in the cab of this truck. Or, in fact, ever. It’s never needed to be. It’s not something Louis has thought about in years. Maybe when he was in school he wondered a bit, but Doncaster at the time wasn’t very friendly to alternative sexualities, certainly his secondary school wasn’t, and then at university he met Michelle and she captivated him with her casual confidence, her well-travelled sophistication, and, let’s be fair, her enjoyment of cooking for him after several months of being left to his own inept devices in the kitchen. The sex has always been great between them—except not so much recently, now he thinks about it. She hasn’t been very interested of late and he’s let it slide, usually exhausted from surfing by the time he gets home and grateful for the reprieve.

Shit.

If he’s thinking in terms of being grateful for not having sex, his relationship is in bigger trouble than he realised. 

He’s not even sure they had sex once when he was home this time. She wasn’t well and he thought—did he truly not even notice? 

But being away for months at a time has got him in the habit of celibacy and out of the habit of regular sex. It was tough at first, but the grind of the road and the physical stress of not only constant travel but also having to take care of two dozen others distracted him until he got used to it all, the travel, the caretaking, the lack of sex. He wouldn’t say he’s never been tempted by a pretty girl on a trip, but it’s always been an easy distinction in his mind: passengers are not to be fraternised with. Several guides over the years have lost their jobs for doing precisely that and he has no intention of becoming one of them. And as for women not under his charge, he’s still working, still required to be professional. So, along with the fact he’s been committed to Michelle, he hasn’t viewed anyone as available to him before.

Before.

Louis groans. His own mind is betraying him now.

It’s like that canyon. Once he knows it’s there, even being nowhere near it, it changes everything. 

He definitely needs to call Michelle when they reach Swakopmund on Thursday. And in the meantime, it would probably be best for him to stay away from Harry.

*

There’s no bread in the supermarket in Bethanie. No ice, either, for the ice boxes. 

Everyone around him is eagerly purchasing crisps and chocolates to break the boredom of the long driving day as Louis stares in dismay at the shelves he counted on, shelves that have always come through for him in the past.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t turn at the sound of the familiar deep voice. “No bread, no ice.”

“Is there another shop we can go to?”

“Not in this town.” Swinging away from the empty shelves, he surrenders to the temptation to look up at Harry. “Bloody hell, lad, I should have given you the last of the ice yesterday for your face.”

“It’s fine.” Harry lifts a self-conscious hand to cover the violent bruise on his jaw from his fall at the springs. “Doesn’t hurt too much.”

“I hope Liam and Niall didn’t think I hit you or anything,” Louis tries to joke. 

Harry grimaces. “They know me. I used to do this all the time, bump into things, fall over. I thought I was growing out of it.”

“I have some bruise cream—”

“It’s fine, Louis. Really.”

It doesn’t look fine. Nor does it help Louis’ peace of mind because looking at the bruise takes him back to when it was created, when he had a nearly naked Harry sprawled at his feet and then almost in his arms. These are the thoughts he’s not supposed to be thinking.

“I don’t like to think of you in pain,” he says stiffly. “Seeing the bruise on you…”

“Not all bruises are bad,” Harry offers. Then he blushes bright red. “Never mind. Ignore me. I’m just—can I get you one of the Crème Sodas you like? They have plenty of drinks here, even if there’s no bread.”

Louis very determinedly focuses on soft drinks rather than what Harry could be implying with that statement. “Yeah, no, I should be the one buying some for you since it was my fault you got hurt.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Harry’s eyes widen with objection. “It was totally on me, and since I put you through that, buying you a drink is the least I can do. It’s the green cans, yeah?”

He needs to say no. “Have you tried them?”

“A bit sweet for me.” Harry looks like he’s about to say something else, changes his mind, then blurts, “They suit you, though.”

“Because I’m green?” Louis says blankly.

“Because you’re—never mind. Nothing. I’ll get you one.”

He didn’t say no and now it’s too late. Louis sighs at his failure, then sighs again when he remembers the bread situation. Zayn will not be happy to have to drive out of his way to find another town for Louis to shop in. Towns are few and far between out here in the desert. 

*

Dinner is stew around the fire beneath the fierce, bright stars, followed by a treat of the marshmallows Louis found in the second grocery shop Zayn located for him. Niall takes advantage of the good weather to pull out his guitar for a singalong while people take turns roasting their marshmallows in the flames. He has happy campers tonight, Louis considers as he casts his eye over the circle in the flickering firelight. Even Michael hasn’t complained once today. He’s sitting with his wife in his arms while she roasts their marshmallows, looking content and satisfied. People are smiling, rocking back and forth as they sing, and on the far side of the truck Liam has his group efficiently making their way through the washing up. 

These are the nights Louis lives for.

In the serene circumstances, he thinks it’s safe enough for him to sneak away to enjoy a warm shower before the hot water gets used up. 

The showers are on the far side of a little field of desert grass that’s usually just sand. Louis picks his way across, already anticipating the joy of steaming water pounding down on his muscles, which are stiff and sore after ten hours of bouncing around the truck. The light’s on in the men’s bathroom, meaning someone else must be there, but that’s fine, there are several shower cubicles. 

Except.

The person inside has finished his shower. Finished it and is now standing in the communal area stark naked while he nonchalantly towels off his hair.

His curls, Louis belated recognises as he wrenches his gaze away from the lanky, exposed body and up to the face. 

“Louis!” Harry’s eyes light up. “Hot showers!” Does he lower the towel to cover his exposure? No, he doesn’t. Instead he starts patting it over the swallows that adorn his chest. “That was a great stew you made tonight,” he enthuses, as though his parts aren’t right there in front of Louis. “I wanted to ask what spices you used, because the flavour was fantastic.”

“Um, yeah.” Spices. “I have the recipe. I can give it to you.” How the fuck is Harry that big? Where did he put it all in that tiny swimsuit? No wonder he’s not shy about showing it off like this. Louis would too if he had that much to display. 

Casually, Harry reaches for the clean clothes he left on the bench that lines the wall and bends over to pull on a pair of loose black shorts. 

Louis is his tour leader, Harry is a passenger. Keep that distinction vivid. “Uh, how did the rest of your day go?” Louis asks. That’s his duty, ensuring his passengers are enjoying themselves and fixing it if they’re not. “Did you notice all the animals we passed along the way?”

“We were working on a song all day, but Nathan’s sitting right in front of me and he kept pointing them out and identifying them. He’s really good.” Harry’s voice goes muffled as he struggles to pull a t-shirt on over his damp skin. “He can tell the difference between a gemsbok or a kudu before the rest of us have even spotted it.”

“The kudu has curly horns and white stripes on its back,” Louis says absently. “Is that a butterfly on your stomach?”

Harry pauses, shirt stretched across the swallows, and looks down. “Yeah. You like it?”

“Why do you have a butterfly on your stomach?”

“Why don’t you?”

That’s actually not a bad question. Louis has never liked the thought of tattoos on his body. He only got _It Is What It Is_ because he was drunk with Zayn in Cape Town once between trips on the night of a difficult anniversary and he’d just poured his heart out, the first time he’d spoken about any of it, and Zayn informed him the only solution was a tattoo. The pain of it was something Louis decided he never wanted to experience again, but tattoos look beautiful on Harry. Perhaps he should reconsider his firm stance against them. A butterfly might be nice. Maybe when he gets back to Cape Town. “Did you see the ostriches?” he asks, because thinking about getting tattoos that match Harry’s is making his spine twitch. “We don’t see them further north on the rest of the trip, so this was your only chance.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “Are you going to get an ostrich tattoo?”

What? “Why would I get an ostrich tattoo?”

“Because we were talking about tattoos and you brought up ostriches?”

A little drop of water slides from Harry’s wet hair down the side of his neck. It’s strangely mesmerising. 

Damn it, Louis has to stop.

“There were lots of ostriches,” he mutters. The drop pauses when it reaches Harry’s t-shirt, then slips beneath it. Louis rips his gaze away to meet Harry’s confused eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you saw them. That’s all.”

Amusement gradually replaces confusion. “And if I hadn’t? If I’d missed all the dozens of ostriches we passed? Would you take me back there, Lou? Make sure I get a good look?”

Nobody has called him _Lou_ since he left home. He never lets anyone say it. He makes it clear that it’s his full name or nothing. It sounds horribly familiar in Harry’s voice, like it isn’t a violation of his family’s name for him. Like it isn’t too intimate. “Think Zayn would notice if we stole his truck?” Louis asks shakily. “Everyone can hitch a ride to the dunes tomorrow with one of the other groups and you and I could head south again.”

“I saw some motorbikes on the other side of camp,” Harry grins. “We could steal one of them. Probably be more efficient.”

“I’ve never ridden a motorbike.”

“I have one. At home.”

“You’ll have to drive then. Do you call it driving? When you’re the one in front?”

“You okay to go behind me, Lou?”

“I’d hold on really tight.” Why doesn’t it feel like they’re talking about motorbikes anymore? Why is his mouth suddenly dry and his breath stuttering? 

“Tight, yeah,” Harry murmurs. Then he swallows hard and looks away. “I saw them, though.” Bending over, he picks up the towel he abandoned on the bench. “The ostriches.” Watching his hands twist the damp fabric, Louis notices how unusually large they are. To go with other unusually large—

“So no stolen motorbikes?” he says, injecting regret into his voice. 

“No.” Harry looks up again. “Not this time. But maybe—I dunno—there might be an opportunity to rent them somewhere else?”

“In Thailand,” Louis says. “That’s how everyone gets around.”

Amusement flicks through Harry’s eyes again. “We’re gonna visit Thailand?”

Before he can stop them, a montage of images plays through Louis’ mind. Arriving in Bangkok with Harry, backpacks slung over their shoulders, renting the scooter-like motorbikes he’s seen in passengers’ pictures of Thailand, hitting the road together through the jungle, exploring beaches and diving and playing football on the sand, holing up in a beach hut for the night—and he stops it right there. “Not on this trip. Sorry.”

“Have you been?” Harry asks.

“Always wanted to. You?”

“Maybe for Niall’s next album. I learned how to scuba dive when we were in Greece and I’d love to do it there.”

For all that Louis makes his living by travelling, he hasn’t seen that much of the world. “You can dive when we reach Zanzibar. In Lake Malawi as well, although where we stay isn’t the best place for it.”

“Do you dive?”

Diving costs money, just like everything else the passengers do. “Nah. There’s an island off Kande Beach in the lake that I like to swim out to when everyone else is off busy with their activities. It’s a gorgeous place to while away the day. Pretty good cliff jumping there too, if you want a bit of adrenalin.”

“You’ll have to show me.”

A whole day alone on a tropical island with Harry in his minuscule yellow swimsuit, not as some distant fantasy but in their real immediate future. Louis can’t. “Well, there’s also horse riding, and boat rides, canoeing, windsurfing, and the local village to explore. You’ll have to decide when we get there what you want to do most.”

“Okay.” Harry nods briskly, turns away, gathers up the rest of his things. “Yeah, of course. It’s still a long way away.” 

“Almost a month.” Louis should be relieved that the mood is broken. “And plenty to come before then. Starting with sunrise on Dune 45 tomorrow. Don’t forget your camera, it’ll be really special.”

“I won’t.” Giving him a distant smile, Harry edges towards the door. “Good night, Louis.”

 _Louis_ , no longer _Lou_. “Sleep well. It’s a four am start!”

“You too.”

He shouldn’t be shaking. As Harry leaves, Louis sinks down onto the bench Harry cleared and tries to stop. His body shouldn’t be acting like a mini earthquake is ripping through it. Nothing’s happening. Nothing even came close to happening. 

He’s never felt anything like this before.

Fumbling out of his clothes, he makes his way into a shower cubicle. It’s wet. It’s the one Harry just vacated. The one Harry was just naked in.

What if Harry was jerking off in here?

A moan escapes him at the thought as he goes rock hard.

Shit.

Turning on the water, he should switch it to cold, but he can’t make himself. He’s already shivering, so he huddles under the warm spray, hoping it will soak through to his quaking bones. 

This is why he didn’t look at the boys at school. This is why he was meticulous after football to keep his eyes to himself. He had enough accusations as it was, because of his size, and he needed to be able to refute them with vehement honesty when he fought back. 

Then…did it just become a habit, not looking? He got his first girlfriend when he was fourteen and he was never really single after that. There was always someone, some pretty, lovely girl who wanted to be with him and it worked for him, he was happy. This doesn’t negate those relationships he had. They were real. Maybe none of them rocked his world but they were comfortable and happy and he wasn’t pretending, for fuck’s sake. He’s not that delusional.

Is he?

Because just looking at Harry’s cock shook him to the core. 

He wants to touch it.

Wants to taste it.

Wants to touch the rest of Harry, to explore all that sunburnt skin, trace the path the water drop took down his neck, lick up the centre of that goddamn butterfly, press his thumbs over what looked to be tattoos of leaves just above the jut of his hip bones, and guide Harry straight into his mouth.

Straight boys don’t fantasise about giving blow jobs, do they?

Okay. Maybe it’s just something he needs to get out of his system, a passing urge that’s no more than physical. 

It’s a weak rationale, but he slides his hand down his own stomach to take hold of his unfaithful cock. It leaps in response. It wants this. 

Once, okay? Just once. Now, and then that’s it.

Where to start, though? 

Harry was just in here, possibly doing the same thing. Imagine him here now, in this cubicle pressed up against Louis. One of those huge hands wrapped around his cock, one wrapped around Louis’, working them both. Louis’ mind could go further, could imagine that hand surrounding both their cocks pushed together—but his helpless shudder at the thought of his cock touching Harry’s means he’ll be done too soon, so he pulls it back. 

How different would Harry’s hand feel? Louis has never felt a hand that big touch him. It would envelop him entirely. 

Or Harry’s mouth—shit, Harry on his knees, water streaming through his curls as he gazes up at Louis, lips stretched wide around Louis’ cock, sucking him down—no—he’s going to come too soon—STOP—but he can’t, it’s too late, he’s already tensing up and his brain presents him with an image of Harry’s upturned face to splash his come across—oh fuck, how’s he ever meant to look at Harry again after this?

He collapses against the wall, gasping. He’s not crying. He’s not. He can’t be. 

This doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t count.

He bites the promise not to do it again into his forearm as he forcibly pulls himself back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 6 - Harry**

**Sesriem to a desert camp, Namibia**

“Harry?”

It’s the voice he’s been dreaming about, and Harry luxuriates in it. “Mmm.”

“Harry, are you there?” 

Something shakes. A zipping sound slices into Harry’s dream, and he jerks awake, opening his eyes just in time to be blinded.

“Wha’ the fuck?”

“Oh, you’re here. Thought we’d lost you for a sec.” That’s Louis’ voice coming from behind the spotlight. “You must have overslept. It’s four o'clock and we have to leave, right now. You need to get up.”

Trying to sit up in his constricting sleeping bag, Harry rubs his eyes. 

“Shit, sorry.” The spotlight turns aside. It was Louis’ headlamp. “Are you okay? Niall and Liam said they thought you were already on the truck.”

“’m okay.” He isn’t. He’s all tangled up in the sleeping bag and his dream and Louis’ looming inside his tent with messy hair that looks like it would if Harry had been doing in reality what he just dreamt. “Give me two minutes.”

“Just come as you are,” Louis advises. “I’m sure it’ll be—oh.”

Harry blinks down at himself as he unzips the sleeping bag. He jerks the zip up again. “Sorry.” What on earth will Louis think of him, the way he keeps exposing himself? Last night in the showers was one thing, when he was replete and in no danger of getting excited again so soon, but morning wood is too much. Especially when it’s inspired by Louis himself. 

“D’you have your torch? I don’t want to leave you in the dark.”

“Yes.” It’s in the corner beside his phone, which for some reason didn’t sound the alarm. “A minute and a half and I’ll be there.”

It takes him three, and then he’s stumbling onto the truck, mortified. Fortunately almost everyone else has already dropped back to sleep. Niall’s dozing on Liam’s shoulder, but he opens his eyes when Harry jostles their legs wriggling into his seat. 

“You’re here!”

The truck, engine already rumbling, pulls smoothly away before Harry’s fully seated. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Louis found you?”

“I overslept. My alarm didn’t go.” Harry’s phone lights up the darkened truck when he swipes it on and he hastily lowers the screen brightness. “Shit, I set it for three-thirty pm, not am.” He’s never done that in his life before. Yet another reason for Louis to think he’s an incompetent child. 

“Did you bring your camera?” Liam asks.

“I packed my bag for today last night. Luckily. I just had to put some clothes on.”

“Ooh,” Niall teases, “gave Louis quite the eyeful, did you?”

“Don’t.”

Niall straightens. “Oh, you did?”

“Wasn’t even the first time,” Harry mumbles, putting his phone away. “I can’t seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of our tour leader.”

“H.” Liam’s voice is wary. He grew up with a front row seat to Harry’s adolescent humiliations in front of the boys he crushed on, and he leans across the table towards him. “Tell me you’re not.”

Harry looks away, out at the invisible desert that lurks in the dark beyond the window. “I’m not.”

“He’s straight.”

“Might not be.”

“He’s taken.”

Which is true. Louis’ been clear about that, about his girlfriend back home in Cape Town. Which means Harry has no right even to fantasise. “I’m trying not to,” he says, reluctantly facing his childhood best friend. “I’m trying, Liam.”

“I know you two have a connection.” Liam reaches across to take Harry’s hand as though he thinks Harry needs comforting. “I can see that, we all can. But friendship is the only thing he has to offer you, even if he’s not entirely straight.” 

“I know.” He does know. But then Louis looks at him like he did in the showers last night and Harry’s good intentions disintegrate. 

Friendship. 

That’s all he and Louis can have, and it’s something. There’s a definite connection between them and that’s what Harry can focus on for the rest of the trip. He’s good at making friends, better with friendship, in fact, than relationships. He and Louis can be friends.

Pillowing his soft blue hoodie against the window, he drifts back into sleep, willing any dreams he may fall into to remain platonic.

*

He keeps the same thought uppermost in his mind when they stumble off the truck an hour later. Everyone’s half asleep and grumbly, but Louis chivvies them along towards the towering shadow of the giant sand dune. 

“Just head upwards,” he says, with far more gaiety than the predawn hour calls for, in Harry’s opinion. “There you go, that’s right, just keep going up,” he tells the group of Nathan, Jim and Marya. “The sun will rise in that direction, so when you get to the top, keep that in mind.”

“Do we have to go right to the top?” Rachel asks dubiously from behind them. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Just go as high as you want to. The higher you go, the better the view.”

“Come on, Rach,” Nicole says. “Danny says he and Duncan will pull us up, if we need it.” 

Harry’s noticed that Nicole and Danny, as two of the four smokers on the truck, have hit it off. There are sixteen years between them and Danny’s just come out of a bitter split with his former wife, but Harry isn’t one to judge. Danny and Duncan are a good pair for Nicole and Rachel to hang out with, despite Rachel’s clumsy attempts to attract the younger men. 

“You’re in good hands,” Louis tells Rachel, confirming Harry’s thoughts. “Now get up there.”

Niall races on ahead, turning cartwheels for Liam to film. 

“Save it for the top,” Louis calls. 

“He has endless energy,” Harry says, keeping his voice light and friendly. Is it his imagination or do Louis’ eyes flash down his body before focusing on his face? “He’ll make it up there and probably do cartwheels all the way back down again.”

“You’d better hurry to catch up with them.”

Looking around, Harry realises he’s the last passenger still on the desert floor. Zayn is setting out the kitchen tables beside Shamwari, but no one else is in sight. “Is Zayn not coming?”

“We’re making breakfast for when you lot get back. Hot breakfast today, scrambled eggs.”

“You’re not coming either?”

“Duty calls.” Pushing his cap back on his head, Louis nods in the direction of the truck. 

That’s just wrong. “But you won’t see the sun rise.”

“It’ll rise down here just as much as up there.”

“But you said—you told Rachel the higher the better. You’re not high at all here, you’re right at the bottom.” 

“It’s fine, Harry. Now, you need to get going or you won’t reach the top in time.”

“Have you ever been up?”

Louis maintains his cheerful grin, even though it tightens around the corners. “My job is down here. But I told you, I have a great view from here anyway.”

“Then I’ll stay and help you,” Harry says.

Louis’ grin vanishes. “Not an option, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re meant to go up the dune.” 

Harry surveys the dune looming over them. “You can’t make me, though.”

“No.” To give Louis credit, he sounds more patient than Harry would be. “But this is probably the only time you’ll ever get the chance to watch the sun rise from the top of a five-million-year-old sand dune in the middle of a desert. Why wouldn’t you want to do that?”

Because it sits wrongly with him that Louis passes through here several times a year and has never done that and apparently never will. “But you haven’t.”

“I’m here to work, not to sightsee. It’s not part of my job to climb sand dunes, it’s my job to make breakfast.”

And Harry is interfering with that. Except isn’t he on cooking duty today? He is! “What if I help you with breakfast?” he counters. “Today’s my cooking day anyway, so it’s my job too. I can help you and then you and I can climb a bit of it together when the time comes for sunrise.”

“Harry.”

“How much longer do we have?”

Sighing, Louis checks his watch. “Half an hour or so.”

“We can do a lot in twenty minutes.”

“Fine.” With a roll of his eyes, Louis turns towards the truck. “But you’re the one cutting three loaves of fresh bread to make toast.”

Slicing fresh bread isn’t easy, but Harry manages it with only a single nick to his finger. Along the way he sneaks in two cups of coffee, which make him feel a lot more human, and presents Louis with a peace offering of Yorkshire tea made just the way he likes it. 

“Not bad,” Louis comments after his first sip. “I’m impressed.”

“I pay attention.” Friends make friends tea. It’s not a thing. 

Louis drains most of the cup. “Right. Zayn has offered to make the toast, so you and I can head up now.”

“You don’t want to join us?” Harry raises his voice for Zayn to hear him.

Zayn casts a look up at the dune then rolls his eyes and turns back to the sketchbook he’s set up on the table beside the grill. 

“Zayn doesn’t go in for physical exertion,” Louis elaborates. “C’mon, Harry, the sun’s almost up. We’ll have to run.”

Running up a dune with sand so soft their legs sink into it almost to their knees with each step is no joke. Harry’s lungs heave, and his calves are on fire. Louis seems unbothered, dancing ahead of Harry with an eagerness that belies his earlier indifference. They pass Rose, who made it quarter way up before finding a comfortable perch, then Michael and Vicky. Vicky’s snuggled in her husband’s arms, head resting on his shoulder. It’ll be a very romantic memory, Harry thinks as he staggers past. 

The rest have obviously made it to the top, but Harry’s repeated glances east tell him there won’t be enough time to join them. They’re more than halfway, though, which isn’t bad, by the time Louis plops down into the sand. “Any second now,” he warns. “I don’t want you to miss it.”

Harry drops right where he is, legs screaming for relief, and rushes for his camera. He switches it on just as the first glint of gold appears on the horizon. 

“There it is.” Louis says, awestruck. “Look.”

Harry’s looking, but not at the rising sun. His camera records the dawn rays breaking across Louis’ rapturous face, and every excruciating step up the dune was worth it, because he gave this to Louis.

*

Liam spends breakfast showing Harry the footage he got from the top. In Harry’s opinion, it wasn’t any better than what he and Louis saw, and he’s fiercely relieved Louis gave in and let him have his way. Liam got some great shots of their fellow passengers lined up along the crest of the dune, bathed in dawning sunlight, and assures Harry he’ll get everyone who’s willing to sign releases when they reach Swakopmund and he can print some out. They hadn’t planned on including their travel companions in their documentary coverage of the trip, but most people are excited about the fact an album is being written in midst of them and want to be a part of it. 

“Do you think Louis and Zayn would sign a release?” Liam asks as they rinse their breakfast dishes, everyone chipping in to help the official washing crew since the next activity is due to begin in a few minutes. 

“I don’t know if they’d be allowed to.” Harry considers it. “This is their workplace, after all.”

“Will you ask Louis?”

Harry drops his wet dishes into the rack set out for them. “Why don’t you?”

“He’s more likely to say yes if it’s you.”

Frowning, Harry shuffles them away from the rest of the group. “Li, I don’t want to take advantage. I’m already on thin ice with Louis after forcing him to come up the dune with me. Look, Zayn helped us make breakfast and he seemed nice enough. Why don’t you try asking him?”

Liam’s hands lift and he takes a step back. “Not a chance. He doesn’t look like he wants anyone to talk to him.”

“Louis talks to him all the time—well, talks at him is maybe more appropriate, but still, Zayn doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t say much in reply, but if he’s okay with all the talking Louis does, I’m sure he won’t mind if you ask him something.”

Liam leans around him to locate Zayn, who turns out to be perched on the stump of a dead acacia tree, sketchbook on his knee. “Wait, he’s an artist?”

“Apparently.”

Surveying him with interest, Liam nods slowly. “That might help. Okay. Not now, since we’re about to leave for Deadvlei, but tonight when we get to the desert camp. I’ll ask him then.”

“Guys!” Niall skids up to them, showering them in red sand. “Time to go. Louis’ just been telling us what to expect. It’s a dead marsh, with skeletons of trees—get this—that died nearly a thousand years ago! He said it’s too dry for them to decompose so they just stay there, seared black by the sun, and it’s amazing for photographs, H. Come on, we don’t want to miss it.”

The sun that rose so dramatically is now high in the sky, bleaching it white with summer heat. This is not a good time to be without a cap, Harry reflects, following Niall and Liam to the four-wheel drive jeeps that will drive them deeper into the desert to where they’ll start the hike across the dunes to reach Deadvlei. Nor did he remember to bring his sunscreen in the flurry of the morning. 

He should have asked Louis for some during breakfast, but he didn’t give it a thought.

Louis, it seems, is more on the ball. “Harry?” He’s waiting beside the second jeep and darts forward when Harry approaches with Liam and Niall. “Take my cap, yeah?” Tugging it off his head, he holds it out. “Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Automatically, Harry takes it. It’s damp from Louis’ sweat and normally that would repulse him, but instead it feels acutely intimate. “What about you?”

Louis bites at his lower lip, looking almost apologetic. “I’m not coming. It’s a paid-for activity, Haz, and we don’t get to go, Zayn and me.”

“So you’ve never seen the trees?” 

“I’ve seen pictures?”

“Lou.” What’s he supposed to say to that? He catches Liam’s eye, and Liam shakes his head. Don’t make a fuss. Yeah, he shouldn’t. Especially after the scene he created this morning. But, “You could go in my place.”

Louis is already shaking his head. “That’s not how it works. It’s fine, Harry. Take pictures for me, yeah? I know you’ll take good ones.” His habitual twinkle returns to his eyes. “Take a selfie, wearing my cap.” 

“Yeah.” Harry has to accept this gracefully. He sets the cap over his curls, tucking a couple of them in since he forgot to grab a hair tie in this morning’s flurry. “Okay. I will. Thanks, Lou.”

Louis’ eyes sharpen. “Where are your sunglasses?”

Harry feels in his pocket before he remembers. “Oh, I, um—” What’s another embarrassment, really? “—knelt on them this morning when I was getting dressed and they broke. But it’s okay, your cap will help a lot.”

“Harry, my lad, what am I to do with you?” As Harry moves to pull himself up into the jeep, Louis grabs his arm. “Here.” He presses his own sunglasses into Harry’s hand. “And I’m not even going to ask if you remembered sunscreen.”

“I still have the aloe,” Harry calls as he drops into the final remaining seat. “And your cap, remember? It’ll protect me.”

*

The dead trees are remarkable, sun-blackened skeletons poking out of the scorched white clay, all that’s left from the river that abandoned these parts centuries ago. Harry’s rarely seen anything more picturesque. Zayn should be here to draw this. Louis would dart through the ghostly forest, probably climb one of the trees and drape himself over an ancient branch for Harry to memorialise. 

He contents himself with documenting Niall’s awe instead—which is, after all, what he’s in Africa to do. There's one picture in particular that he points out to Liam on the screen. It shows Niall seated on the white clay pan, leaning against one of the tree skeletons, head tipped back as he considers its scalded branches, both of them silhouetted against the enormous red dunes soaring up into the sky like a vast mountain range.

Liam whistles when he sees it. “We might want this for the album cover.”

“It’s early days yet.” Harry feels the same, but he feels bound to point out, “We still have most of the trip to come, though. The Serengeti. Victoria Falls. The Okavango. Zanzibar.”

“We’ll keep the options open, but I’m pretty sure this is it. I honestly can’t imagine what could top it.”

Liam heads off to give Niall the good news and to film him pretending to climb one of the trees, which gives Harry the excuse to organise his promised selfie for Louis. He’s taken most of his photographs here with Louis in mind, trying to find a way not just to show him what’s here—after all, Louis said he’s seen pictures, so he knows—but to convey the desolation of it. Once, water brought life to this little oasis nestled amongst the dunes that tower almost four hundred metres above, and these acacia trees were thriving habitats. He tries to imagine what it looked like, green and lush, perhaps, amidst the iron-red sand before the river changed its course, picked somewhere else to vitalise. How long did it take the trees to die without the water to protect them from the sun’s destruction?

Protection, he thinks. Like Louis’ cap and glasses are protecting Harry’s skin and eyes from the sun. Like Louis has been doing in general for Harry in Africa. 

It’s a silly thought, but right now it feels like Louis is Harry’s river. 

Laughing at himself for being fanciful, he snaps a bunch of selfies, alternating dead trees and giant dunes for backgrounds. He’ll find one among them to show Louis, perhaps one where his face is almost invisible, hidden by the shadow of the protective cap. Yes, like this one, where he’s captured the sun through the black branches behind his head. It’s not the kind of picture you’d want to publish anywhere, the lighting is all wrong, but it captures the essence what he was after.

*

Louis gazes at it for a long time when Harry shows him. He was lying under a much younger, still-living acacia tree, his bent knees giving Zayn something to balance his sketchbook on, but he scrambled up when Harry approached with his camera. 

“Can I have this?” he asks after several silent minutes. 

“Of course.” Harry wishes it was printed out so he could place it in Louis’ hands the way Louis gave him the glasses and cap earlier. “You can have any of my pictures you want, Lou.”

Louis hands back the camera. “We’ll have internet in Swakopmund. You can email it to me there.”

“I will.” Harry shifts uneasily. “I’ve taken several of you. They were without your permission and I’ll delete them if you want, but you’re welcome to have them too.”

Louis nods, his hand coming up to smooth sweat-damp strands of fringe away from his eyes. “When you download them onto your computer, I’ll have a look. I certainly won’t turn down free portraits by Harry Styles.”

“I’ll take more,” Harry blurts. “If you want.”

“Nah.” Louis laughs and bends down to pick up the canvas sheet he was lying on. “I’m not gonna add to your work. You’re here to take pictures of Niall, not me.”

No. Louis can’t revoke Harry’s ability to photograph him. “Please. You’re a good subject, and I can always do with more practice. I still have so much to learn.”

“If you’re looking for models to practise on, Zayn would be a better bet.”

Zayn, who’s no longer beside them, having slipped away to open Shamwari since everyone’s queuing up to get inside away from the sun. “You,” Harry says. “Please, Lou. I want to photograph you.”

Shaking out the sheet, Louis folds it with proficient ease. He turns around and taps Harry on the end of his nose. “You promise me you’ll wear sunscreen every day, put it on when you wake up and keep reapplying it nonstop, and you can photograph me.”

“Sure. Yes. Thank you. I will. Thank you, Louis.”

Louis holds up a warning finger. “I mean it. You keep that sunscreen on you at all times. I’ll be conducting spot checks, and if you fail, there will be consequences.”

“I won’t.” Harry secures his camera away in its pouch and hurries after Louis towards the truck. “I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t.”

“I won’t.” Not when it’s his passport to continue photographing Louis. 

*

Back at the campsite, they strike camp, repack Shamwari, and head north. It’s not a long drive to the town of Solitaire where they stop for hastily assembled sandwiches. Well, _town_ is rather generous. It’s more like a little settlement spread across the sand, somewhere for Zayn to fill up, boasting a bakery and café and not much else, but what it’s known for are the rusty wrecks of vintage vehicles scattered around like decaying decorations. If not for this morning, Harry would be overwhelmed with excitement, rushing around with his camera like mad, but the dead vehicles don’t belong in the desert like the ancient acacia trees did, this wasn’t their home, they’re interlopers, and they leave Harry with the feeling that they shouldn’t be here in the first place. There’s no sense of tragedy. Rather, he vibrates with a sense of savage satisfaction that the desert has righted the wrong. 

He snaps a few pictures, but can’t seem to make them mean anything.

*

Everyone sleeps the afternoon away, exhausted from the early start and all the exercise climbing the dune and hiking through the sand to Deadvlei. Harry covers the fading pink on his face with aloe, careful not to jar his purple bruise, and stuffs his sunscreen into a pocket of his camera case so he won’t be caught without it. After making Niall and Liam join him in downing plenty of water to rehydrate, he passes clean out until they arrive at their very basic camp in the middle of nowhere. 

Louis seems subdued when he introduces the limited facilities and supervises tent erection, and he doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes when he dispatches them on their third excursion of the day, a walking tour with the resident expert on desert flora and fauna. Harry doesn’t try to speak to him but smears his face with protective sunscreen and dons the loaned cap and sunglasses as he heads out in the middle of the group. The tour is fascinating, for Niall in particular, who plies their guide, Frans, with a million intricate questions about the minutiae of desert life: the snakes hiding in the grass, the spiders who build elaborate traps for ants in the sand, the dead flowers that come to life with just a few drops of water. Harry senses a new song coming up, now that Niall’s discovered the desert isn’t as empty as they’d thought. Usually Harry would be right there with him, eager for fresh knowledge, but he can’t stop brooding about Louis.

Are they okay?

Did he upset Louis with his earlier inability to accept the stark difference between tour leader and tourist? Louis’ obviously okay with missing out on a lot of the tour activities; he wouldn’t keep doing this job if it distressed him, so Harry needs to learn to leave it the fuck alone and respect the fact that Louis is here for work, not for a holiday. 

They’re not equals. 

He’s been looking forward to being on cooking duty from the start, but now that his turn has come around at last, he’d prefer not to have to inflict his presence on Louis. But he can’t abandon Rolf, Rachel and Carlie, so instead of following Niall and Liam and the rest to the tiny swimming pool, he slinks up to Louis’ latest makeshift kitchen to lurk behind Rolf while Louis assigns tasks. 

“Since there’s no electricity at this campsite, we’re barbecuing a gemsbok tonight over the fire,” Louis announces, gesturing to the table behind him, piled high with meat. “You’re lucky because the guys here have already largely prepared it for us. 

“Don’t you call it a braai here, instead of a barbecue?” Carlie asks. She’s wearing a very skimpy top today and she bends over the table, arms pressed together to give Louis an eyeful of a different kind than the one Harry gave him this morning. Poor Louis, assaulted from all sides by lustful passengers. He must be sick to death of it.

Keeping his eyes away from temptation, Louis gives her a polite smile. “That’s right, yeah. I wasn’t sure if you lot knew that word, though. Thank you, Carlie.”

She preens and Harry suppresses a huff. Couldn’t she hear the sarcasm in Louis’ voice? At some stage Harry needs to drop into the conversation the fact that Louis has a girlfriend, because seemingly she isn’t aware. 

“I’m also baking camp bread,” Louis continues, “which will hopefully be done soon, and we’ll add a potato salad to that, so who’s up for peeling potatoes?”

Harry should have skipped the desert walk because then he could have learned how to bake bread over a fire. “I’ll do that,” he offers, because he doesn’t want to deal with the remnants of one of the magnificent antelopes he’s been enjoying through the windows all week.

“Excellent.” 

After setting Rolf and Carlie up to finish the barbecue preparations and sending Rachel to find some tins of peas and corn to add to the salad, Louis comes over to where Harry’s working on his potatoes. 

“Harry, I need to ask you something.”

Harry focuses on the potato in his hand. “Okay.”

“It’s about dinner.”

Oh. He looks up. “Yeah?”

“I have a butternut squash here that I was planning to roast for Annette, but she’s not feeling well, a touch of sunstroke, I suspect, so I wanted to know if you’d like to have it instead.”

“I don’t have to eat the gemsbok?”

Louis shakes his head. “Like I told you, if you want to be officially vegetarian for the rest of this trip, it’s not a problem. But, yeah, you’re welcome to have the butternut.”

“I’d like that.”

“Sorted then.” 

As Louis starts to move away, Harry says, “Next time you make bread on a fire, will you teach me?”

Is it his imagination that Louis’ face softens? “Yeah, for sure.”

“I’m just—” Not trying to monopolise Louis’ time. “Curious.”

“Sure, Harry.” Louis turns to walk away again.

“Louis.”

“Yeah?”

“You, um, called me Haz earlier.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. It’s okay. I kind of—I liked it.”

“Nobody calls you that normally?”

“I’ve always been H or Harry. But, yeah, you can call me that.” 

“Thanks, Haz.”

“You’re welcome, Lou.”

It’s definitely not his imagination that Louis winks before returning to the fire and his baking bread.

*

Dinner is interrupted when the storms that have been periodically illuminating the landscape with vivid lightning crash over their camp. Everyone grabs their chairs and plates in a flurry to rush into the bare concrete room that forms the sole shelter of the campsite. Without electricity, everyone’s wearing their head torches for light, which makes for great hilarity. 

Afterwards, the rain shows no sign of stopping. When Marya calls for Niall to bring out his guitar for a singalong, since there’s not much else to do, Harry volunteers to fetch it from the truck. It’s a good excuse to grab his shower stuff to take advantage of the single shower the camp has to offer while everyone else is otherwise engaged.

But it turns out he wasn’t the only person with that idea.

They reach the bathroom door around the side of the building at the exact same moment.

“Louis!”

Instead of his head torch, Louis holds a small normal torch in his hand. He points it at the door. “You go first. Make sure you check for spiders and scorpions and the like.”

Harry’s seen some bizarre insects scurrying around, enormous creatures vaguely resembling cockroaches or giant crickets that look prehistoric and evil, although Niall thought they were cute. He photographed a few in the daylight but he thinks he’ll delete the pictures. The thought of them lurking inside the pitch black bathroom makes him shudder. “That’s fine. I mean, you go. I’m fine to wait.”

Louis’ grin flashes white in the torchlight. “You want me to check for insects for you, Haz?”

“My head torch isn’t all that bright, really.”

“That’s why I brought this one.” Louis gestures with it again. “There’s not anywhere to put it in there to light up the whole room while you shower, though. I always panic that some creature’s lurking just outside of the light—”

“Don’t say these things! I didn’t get to swim so I need to take a shower and I won’t be able to if you keep putting images like that in my mind.”

“Sorry. I was just teasing.”

“Don’t.” Harry feels like a wimp, but he’s tired and sticky and Louis is too close and they’re alone together in the dark and it’s doing things to his head. 

“Sorry,” Louis says again. He pauses. “Look. Zayn and I usually do this for each other but he’s already gone to bed, so—if you want to, if you’re comfortable with it—we could go in together and hold the torch for each other.” Pushing open the door, he gives the room a quick flick over with his torch. A white curtain bisects the room into a dry space and a surprisingly large shower area. “We worked out that if one person stands in this corner, they can hold the torch so it lights up the majority of the room, even through the curtain for the other person to shower. Yeah? What do you think?”

Harry thinks it’s a terrible idea, but clearly Louis is comfortable doing it with Zayn. He’s being polite enough to offer the same to Harry, and, if Harry’s honest, he really doesn’t want to shower in that dark room by himself with only his head torch. 

“Okay.” He clears his throat. “Okay, yes, thank you.”

Louis enters first, brandishing his torch and inspecting every corner of the room. One of the bigger creatures turns out to be hiding in the shower, and Harry hangs back while Louis coerces it out the door. 

“All safe,” he calls.

Safe from insects, perhaps, Harry thinks as he goes in and closes the door behind him. “So how do we do this?”

“I stand here. You put your clothes and towel on that little ledge there—don’t worry, I’ll turn my back while you strip—and you should get enough light through the curtain to shower by. If not, just let me know and I’ll adjust my position until you do.”

“Right.” 

Normally Harry has no issues stripping around others. He’s comfortable naked, more comfortable than most, and doesn’t particularly view it as a sexual thing. But there’s nothing normal about this situation. The walls are so thick that they can’t hear the others singing. There’s no sound but their breathing. Louis’ is more steady than Harry’s, although it seems remarkably shallow. Maybe that’s just how he breathes normally.

At least Louis is being professional about this, not cracking jokes about having seen all Harry has to offer already or openly staring when Harry removes his clothes. Christ, don’t think about Louis watching. Harry strips himself as rapidly as possible, and darts behind the curtain. “I’m in. In the shower. You can turn around now.”

He hears the shuffle of Louis’ feet on the concrete floor. “How’s the light?”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” 

The water is cool, not icy, a relief as it washes over Harry’s filthy body. He soaps himself quickly and ducks back under the water to rinse off. His curls take longer, he doesn’t rinse them as efficiently as he should, but he needs this experience to be done with. 

“Can I—would you pass me my towel?” he asks, turning the water off.

“Yeah, hang on.” The light bobs around, then a hand thrusts his towel around the edge of the curtain. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” 

It’s far too small to adequately cover him, but he exits the cubicle as soon as he’s patted it over most of his skin. 

He forgot to warn Louis, and the torchlight skids wildly over his body before Louis sharply angles it away. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I should’ve said.”

Louis’ back is firmly turned again. “Let me know when you’re dressed.”

A pair of shorts is all Harry brought. Not much point in more when he’ll have to dash through the rain to reach his tent for the night. He tugs them on then wraps the towel around his hair. “’m decent.”

Their fingers brush when Louis hands him the torch. It’s not the first time they’ve touched, but it feels electric and Harry flinches back. 

“Sorry,” Louis says again.

“It’s okay.” Harry’s also repeating himself. Turning his back the way Louis did, he angles the torch down over his shoulder. “Sorry this is so awkward. I bet it’s a lot easier with Zayn.”

“Years of practice.” Louis sounds cheerful, his voice masking the sounds of his clothes being pulled off his body. “Besides, he’s my best friend and we have no secrets. I mean—actually, that’s not entirely true, we have lots of secrets.” His voice moves away as he steps into the cubicle and pulls the curtain shut, meaning Harry can turn around again. “I know almost nothing about him. You might have noticed he’s not the world’s most chatty. But he knows most stuff about me, or at least he’s heard it all; whether he’s retained any of it is another question altogether.”

The water turns on. 

The tense atmosphere is easier to bear with conversation, so Harry says, “So he’s an artist, then?”

“Yeah. He was finishing off a painting here earlier, before dark. He keeps them scattered across the continent in various places we stop at, works on them whenever we pass through. That’s why he says he doesn’t need to talk. His art speaks for him, he claims. Personally, I’m not so sure it does. I mean, what the fuck does a painting of desert grass tell me about whether he prefers coffee or tea? Do you know, I spent eighteen months making him tea before I found out accidentally that he loathes tea, and even then I only discovered by spying on him.”

Harry laughs, the way Louis’ indignant voice suggests he should. “How long have you been working together?”

“Coming up to three years now. We started with Southern Skies around the same time and neither of us found a good fit until we ended up together in an emergency, when I had to fly in to fill in for a guide who got ill and couldn’t finish a tour, and somehow we work. At least I think we do. Perhaps I should consult his latest painting of elephants to make sure he agrees.”

Harry chuckles again.

“Fuck, I’m cold.” Turning off the water, Louis audibly shivers. “Haz, can you pass me my towel now?”

Ineptly, Harry lights up the wrong part of the room when he moves to hold the towel out. Louis’ fumbling hand bumps into his in the dark. It’s very chilly. 

How can Louis possibly be cold when Harry’s standing here, burning? 

“Should’ve brought my hoodie,” Louis mutters. “Can’t believe I forgot to pack it.”

“Can you get one in Swakopmund tomorrow?”

“Everything’s tourist prices there. Don’t worry, I’ll have something stashed away somewhere, I’m sure.” When Louis pulls back the shower curtain, Harry swings around again. “But we do need to make sure you pick up a cap there and some more sunglasses. There’s still a lot of desert to come.”

“Thanks for the loan today. I appreciated it.”

“You’re welcome, mate.” 

Mate. Yes. Of course. That’s what he is to Louis. That’s all he can be. The sooner he persuades his body of that reality, the easier this trip will be. 

“Right, I’m dressed now. Want to give me the torch?”

The way Louis dried his hair has left it sticking up like a bramble thicket. Mind you, Harry must look a lot worse. Instead of looking messy, Louis looks—shit. Sexy. As if he’d been on his knees in that shower with Harry’s hands clamped in his hair while he—no, fuck, don’t. Don’t, don’t, don’t. It was bad enough he dreamt about that last night, but far worse to actively imagine it when standing alone with Louis next to a private shower. 

The ease their conversation about Zayn brought to the situation disintegrates. 

“After you—I’ll—when you leave, I’ll wait a few minutes.” Louis pauses with his hand on the door knob. “We probably shouldn’t be seen coming out of the bathroom together.”

Yes, he definitely sensed where Harry’s dirty mind just went. It’s essential that Harry stops sexually harassing him. “Okay,” he agrees in a small voice.

Louis fiddles with the knob, not opening the door. “It’s not because you’re gay,” he clarifies. “I mean, they don’t even know. Unless you told them. I didn’t. I wouldn’t, that’s for you to say, but—anyway, it’s not because of that. It’s just—if they—someone might jump to the wrong conclusion. If they saw us. Even not knowing. And I don’t want to lose my job.”

Lose his job? Harry’s so surprised that he bursts out, “What, you’d get fired if you fucked me?”

Louis spins around, torch spotlighting Harry before he jerks it to the side. His mouth opens but no words come out. 

Shit. Harry should not have said that. 

_If you fucked me._

The words echo back and forth, louder and louder in the silence as neither of them speaks. 

“Sorry,” Harry says after far too long. “I didn’t mean—I was—hypothetically—just—never mind. I’ll go now.”

He shoves past Louis, opens the door, and dashes out into the storm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 7 – Louis**

**Desert camp to Swakopmund, Namibia**

Nothing happened.

The words drum through Louis’ head in time with the rain that batters their campsite throughout the night.

Nothing happened, he reminds himself, as he uses up the last of their potatoes for a more elaborate breakfast than usual to distract himself from Harry’s wayward curls when he ambles up, rumpled and sleepy, to make his own coffee in the wet morning light.

Nothing happened, he chants silently while they trundle through endless sandy desert, Shamwari struggling more than usual as Zayn coaxes her north. 

Nothing happened, he remembers when everyone piles out of the truck at the Tropic of Capricorn to pose around the official sign and he takes group pictures on everyone’s camera except Harry’s. Harry hangs back with his friends to take their own pictures for their documentary purposes. Yes, Harry is here to work too, remember. 

Nothing fucking happened, he insists to his own treacherous memory as Zayn turns onto the final road for the morning, sandwiched between soaring sand dunes on one side and the pounding waves of the Atlantic on the other. Usually Louis starts internally celebrating when they hit the west coast. Not only is he reunited with his beloved ocean, but seeing it means the first week of the tour is over and he’s about to have a blissful day and a half off. A day and a half away from the constant temptation of Harry. A day and a half to get himself back under control and move on from this aggravating aberration. 

Ultimately, nothing happened. He hasn’t touched Harry in any inappropriate way, they haven’t said any words that can’t be taken back, and he’s only allowed his thoughts to go there one single time. He kept them sternly under control last night even while they were both naked in the same room—doing nothing he hasn’t done with Zayn in the past. 

Nothing happened.

And now he’s in Swakopmund with the chance to catch his breath. He’ll have his own room, some privacy at last, and plenty of internet access for some video calls with Michelle. Maybe he’s just sexually frustrated and a bit of phone sex will sort him out. Get them back on track. 

*

Upon disembarkation in Swakopmund, he goes into full business mode. Only an hour left on duty, making sure everyone books the activities they’ve chosen and getting them settled into their backpackers lodge, then he’s free. 

He leans against a table in the back of the booking agent’s office while a video plays to show his passengers all the exciting outdoor adventures on offer during their day and a half in the coastal resort. This stop is always a highlight, and it’s his job to make sure everything goes smoothly and no one misses out on anything they want. 

After the video, people leaf through the brochures and booklets scattered strategically through the room, the noise level rising as they eagerly debate options before they start queuing up to make their bookings, forking out the hundreds of dollars required for each. 

“Which activity do you most recommend?”

Louis stiffens. It’s not an unusual question, he’s frequently consulted for guidance by people on tight budgets who are trying to narrow down their enticing choices, but the last time he heard that voice it was talking about fucking and his stupid body is too on edge for him to keep the memory adequately at bay. 

Abruptly, he turns around. Harry’s standing there, curls caught up in an untidy thick scarf wound around his head, biting his lip and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but talking to Louis. Why the fuck’s he here then?

Meeting Louis’ eyes, Harry straightens his shoulders, uncertainty disappearing into determination. “Liam and Niall are going skydiving,” he says, “but I’m not brave enough to do that.” There’s no shame as he admits that, which Louis envies. “There are so many other options, though, and I don’t know how to choose.”

Right, Louis can do this. Harry’s a passenger with a query, and that’s Louis’ bread and butter. “Skydiving can be done anywhere,” he says brightly, refraining from mentioning that it’s the one activity he’d choose here, if he could. He’d kill for the chance to see the Namib Desert meet the ocean from the air. “But since you’re in the desert, I always recommend desert-related activities. Quad biking through the desert and sandboarding down the dunes are activities you can’t do many other places. If you like horse riding, there’s a beautiful ride through a place called Moon Valley.” This is not the time to remember their conversation about the moon at the canyon. He turns up the professionalism on his smile. “Or if you want to be a bit more exotic, I’ve heard good things about the camel rides out at the camel farm.”

“You’ve heard?” Harry picks up on the word Louis shouldn’t have let slip. “You haven’t tried out the camels?” 

“Swakop is my time off.” Louis holds firmly to his smile. “I let you lot go off for the adventures on your own.” Of course Harry knows what he’s really saying. Before he can comment, Louis continues, “There’s also the chance to visit another township, Namibia style, see if it’s more to your liking than the one in Cape Town. I understand the tour here is more focused on the cultural aspects and includes a concert of local music, which you and your friends might enjoy, and the opportunity to try traditional Namibian delicacies for dinner.”

“Liam was looking at that, I think.” It seems like he’s successfully diverted Harry. “He wants to learn more about Namibian culture, and Niall’s always up for delicacies.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t mind. I do like to learn about new places.”

“Sounds like the cultural tour should go on your list then, yeah?”

“What about the quad bikes or sandboarding? Which have you heard better things about?”

Ah, the diversion didn’t work entirely, judging by the way Harry emphasises the word “heard”. “With sandboarding you get up close and personal with the desert, trust me. You really do.”

Before Harry can answer, Annette and Rolf appear behind him. “Ah, Harry.” Annette lays her hand comfortably on his arm like she has every right to touch him. “We wondered if you, Liam and Niall wanted to join us sandboarding this afternoon.”

When Harry glances back at Louis, Louis gives him an encouraging smile. “Maybe that’s your decider?” He widens his smile to include the German couple. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Hayley’s in need of some advice.”

Hayley wants to go horse riding this afternoon but not alone. It’s not difficult to rustle up some companions for her in Rachel and Yolanda, leaving Nicole free for quad biking with Carlie, Duncan and Danny. Jim and Marya, by now firmly a couple if what Louis witnessed this morning in the doorway of the shower room is anything to go by, pick skydiving with Liam, Niall and Yolanda for the morning after ocean kayaking today. Most of the group plan to take advantage of the cultural option for the second half of tomorrow, it seems. Nathan attaches himself to the sandboarding expedition with Harry’s group. Excellent. He’s still fixated on Harry, his gaydar obviously pinging despite Harry’s reluctance to confirm it. Maybe he can snare Harry’s attention. He’s a good-looking lad, strong and muscular, handsome features. If Harry wants to think about fucking, then Nathan’s his man.

Louis ignores the unprofessional desire to punch Nathan in his smug face when he informs Harry he’s joining them for the afternoon. 

“Louis?” It’s Rose, ever-present video camera in her hand. “Is it all right if we don’t do any of the activities? They’re very pricey, and at my age I’m not sure I should be jumping out of aeroplanes or throwing myself around the desert.”

“It’s fine, Rose. Your time here is free to spend as you like. The town itself is fascinating to explore, there’s a museum down by the water, plenty of cafes and boutiques to browse in. The cultural tour tomorrow doesn’t cost that much, though, so maybe you’d like to consider that one?”

She contemplates his suggestion. “I might. Thank you for not making me feel out of place on this trip. I was nervous before I came that you would think I didn’t belong here, but you’ve made me feel very welcome and I’m having the best adventure of my life.”

“Excellent, excellent. I’m so glad to hear that.”

“You are a great tour leader, Louis.”

“Thank you.” 

He hasn’t been up to his usual standard of late, but Swakopmund is the chance for a reset. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one tonight, so there'll be another chapter tomorrow.
> 
> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	8. Chapter 8

**Day 8 – Harry**

**Swakopmund, Namibia**

Ugh, Harry’s sore. 

He rolls over in his bunkbed, grateful for the soft mattress, and groans. Sandboarding yesterday was fun, but now his body feels the equivalent of his head when he has a hangover. How can he be this unfit? His university self would be horrified that he let himself go so badly during Niall’s tour after the strict regimen he devoted himself to in Manchester. 

To be fair, Manchester never offered the possibility of forcing his body to slog up sand dunes over and over again in order to fly down them and crash spectacularly. Up close and personal with the desert, didn’t Louis say? It took Harry an hour in the shower last night to divest himself of all the sand that got lodged in very unwelcome places. 

But, yeah, sandboarding was wonderful fun.

“H.” Liam pats Harry’s hip through his covers. “We have to leave in twenty minutes and you’ll miss breakfast if you don’t hurry. We’re heading over there now.”

Breakfast comes as part of their stay at the lodge, held in a large common area near the reception that Louis showed them when they checked in. Harry’s hungry, or at least he’s aware that he will be when he gets up. The thought of moving, though…

“C’mon, Harry,” Niall calls from the doorway. “I don’t want to be late for skydiving!”

Harry opens one eye and squints at him. “Go without me.”

“No,” Liam protests. “I know you’re not jumping, but it’ll still be fun.”

And he’s supposed to photograph Niall. Falling through the sky. 

Liam, best friend that he is, accurately reads his face. “Okay, no, it’s fine. Don’t worry, I’ll take pictures for you if we need any. This is probably better captured by video anyway.”

This is why Harry loves Liam. “Be safe,” he croaks. 

“Will do.”

They leave with a bang of the door to the private room they paid extra for, and Harry turns over again and goes back to sleep.

*

More than an hour later, he ambles into the breakfast room feeling far more alive. He did a bit of yoga, laying out one of their towels on the floor since they’re getting laundry done here, stretching out his muscles and getting the blood flowing properly. Now he’s starving and eager for a chance to explore Swakopmund before meeting the others for the cultural township tour this afternoon. He also needs to find somewhere to buy a hat and sunglasses. He’s brought the ones Louis loaned him to hand in at reception with a request that they pass them on to Louis next time he comes by. 

Louis.

Louis, who he clearly alienated with his extremely inappropriate behaviour the night before last. Harry’s going to have to work hard if he wants to salvage the friendship they were building, and he figures the first step is to give Louis the distance he so blatantly showed he wanted yesterday. That’s fine. Harry can do that.

The breakfast laid out for them looks distinctly underwhelming. Maybe it’ll be more enticing after coffee, so he locates the coffee and pours himself a cup. 

It’s disgusting.

Okay, fine. He’s not marooned in a remote campsite, he’s in the middle of a town, one of the biggest in this country, so surely he can find a coffee shop and somewhere to buy breakfast. He’ll drop the cap and sunglasses off and head out. 

Pushing his chair back, he glances around to see if anyone else he knows is here who might like to come with him. No, each face he scans is unfamiliar—until he reaches the person in the far corner, curled up on his seat and hunkered down over his phone. 

Louis.

Without lifting his head, Louis takes a sip of the tea in the cup beside him. His jaw tightens in a subtle grimace that tells Harry it’s as bad as the coffee. 

Harry needs to leave him alone.

He’s off duty, though. He’s not Harry’s tour leader today so he’s allowed to tell Harry to fuck off if he wants to, but Harry can’t leave him here with his horrible tea, looking so small and dejected and unenthusiastic. Looking so…un-Louis. 

Oh wait, he has the excuse of returning the cap and sunglasses. He can use them to gauge Louis’ receptivity to a more appealing breakfast invitation. 

“Good morning.”

Louis looks up. “I’m off duty,” he says flatly.

Promising start. If it didn’t matter to him so much, Harry would laugh. “I know.” He fumbles in his bag for Louis’ cap and sunglasses, holds them out like a peace offering. “I just brought you these.”

“Do you have your own now?”

“Not yet.” Harry pulls out his sunscreen and waves it wildly. “I’m protected, though, see? Just like I promised. And I’m planning to go look for some right after breakfast.”

“Young Ones.” Apparently Louis can’t turn his tour-leadering off. “It’s a music shop, but it has lots of other stuff as well. That’s where I’d go. They won’t rip you off.”

“Thank you.” Louis’ looking at him like he barely knows Harry and it stings. He should accept this for the dismissal it is, but he can’t bear to leave things between them like this. If he doesn’t try to fix it now, this discomfort might last all the way to Nairobi. Even if he can’t have Louis the way he’d like to, which he can’t, he doesn’t want to lose the possibility of Louis as a friend. “I’d like to buy you breakfast,” he offers. 

Louis’ eyes narrow.

“Just as—I mean, if you’ve already eaten, then tea. Better tea than this.” He points to the cup that’s still mostly full. “I can’t imagine that’s any better than the coffee was, and there must be some place out there with preferable options.”

“I’m off duty,” Louis repeats.

“I know! That’s why I’m asking. You don’t have to say yes, you can tell me to go away and I will, but—how about my treat to apologise for the other night?”

Louis straightens in his chair, his body tense and forbidding. “You have nothing to apologise for,” he says in a formal tone. “I was the one who compromised the rules and put you in an awkward position, and I’m sorry for that. I won’t do it again.”

This isn’t the man Harry knows at all and Harry can’t bear it. Uninvited, he pulls out the chair next to Louis. “Lou, is everything okay?”

Louis’ eyes slide away. “I’m fine. Just—just tired. This is my only day off in the first two weeks of the tour, so—” His voice trails off as though he’s too polite to finish the sentence, but his meaning is clear.

“So you just want me to go away and leave you alone.” Harry hates himself for the hurt he can’t hide. Louis has every right to reject him. “Okay.” He places the cap and sunglasses on the table beside Louis’ teacup and stands up. “I won’t bother you again.”

“Harry.” Louis’ voice stops him before he’s halfway to the door. “Wait.”

*

Louis takes him to a tea shop. 

At first, he remains the detached stranger from breakfast, striding tight-lipped through the muddy streets ahead of Harry, sunglasses firmly on, cap tucked into the pocket of his denim cut-offs. They walk for barely ten minutes before he veers into a little tea shop where he’s welcomed by the owner as a long-lost friend. It turns out that he can’t maintain his chilliness in the face of someone who’s an actual friend of his. He throws himself into her arms for a tight hug, and she beams at him when he pulls away. 

“I’d normally expect to see you later in the day,” she comments, shepherding them towards one of the tiny tables. 

Jars of different kinds of tea line the walls, Harry notes. He can see why Louis loves this place. 

Louis flashes his cheeky smile. “Missed you too much to wait, Anja.”

“Missed my tea, more like it.” She swats him with the cloth she’s holding. “You’re lucky I’m even open.”

“I was counting down the seconds.” In contrast to how he’d been hunched over his table at the lodge, Louis leans back comfortably in his wooden chair, still smiling. “Besides, this lad demanded somewhere better for breakfast so I brought him here. He’s a coffee man, more’s the shame, but I know you’ll be able to rustle something up for him.”

“Hi.” Harry gives a little wave when Anja transfers her bright attention to him. “I don’t mind trying tea. It looks like you have a lot of wonderful options.”

“Hmm,” she says, but he must pass muster because she nods. “I’ll bring you both. No sense in depriving you of coffee. God knows what you found in that lodge.” She turns back to Louis. “You want your usual?”

“Yeah, please. Plus waffles.”

“Waffles for you too?” she asks Harry.

“Yes,” Louis answers for him. “With everything.”

“And I’ll try whichever tea you most recommend.”

The tea is good. So is the coffee, and the waffles send Harry into raptures. Anja hangs out with them while they eat, catching Louis up on local gossip and finding out how his tour is going. Content to let the conversation flow around him, Harry concentrates on his waffles and on the relaxed sound of Louis’ voice. It must mean something, surely, that Louis brought him to a personal place like this. If Louis truly no longer liked him, he wouldn’t want to share his holy grail tea shop, wouldn’t want Harry near it. There’s hope. 

Louis doesn’t let him pay.

Harry tries, but Anja is loyal to Louis and pays no attention to Harry whatsoever. She takes Louis’ money and hurries off to the till without giving him a single glance.

“She gives me a discount,” Louis says softly. It’s the first time he’s addressed Harry since they arrived and his eyes skitter around a bit before holding steady. 

“Then I owe you one.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

“I invited you.”

“And I brought you somewhere I was coming to anyway.”

So much for working on their friendship. 

After a flurry of hugs and kisses from Anja to send them on their way, Harry follows Louis out onto the broad street. 

“Cap and sunglasses,” Louis says decisively, heading up a different road than the one they came down. “And I need to pick up some batteries and a couple of other things.”

Apparently they’re going to Young Ones together. Harry can work with this. 

Anja seems to have reactivated Louis’ ability to speak, and as they walk between the beautiful German colonial buildings, he points out various places of interest. There’s the Woermannhaus, with its desert-coloured tower, now functioning as the public library. Harry wonders if he might drop by later to check out the books it has. The imposing Hohernzollern building, all creamy gables and turrets in what Louis tells him is neo-baroque style, is topped by a figure of Atlas bearing the world on his shoulders. 

“He’s you,” Harry points up at Atlas. “When you’re on a trip.”

“Think the world of yourself, do you, Haz?”

Harry tries not to let his pleasure at hearing the nickname show on his face. “Just saying. I understand why you need a day off now and then.”

Louis’ mouth does a complicated thing and Harry knows he’s suppressing a smile. Smiling’s good. Especially if it’s at Harry. 

There’s a coffee shop Louis’ scathing of, a pizzeria that’s not bad—but not as good as the one he recommended his passengers go to last night. 

“Yeah, it was really good,” Harry confirms. 

That gets him an honest-to-God grin. “Not to mention that pizza in general must’ve been a relief after a week of my cooking.”

“No! Lou, your cooking is amazing. We weren’t expecting much in the way of camp food and you’ve made it so good, every time.”

Louis shrugs and points down a road to where the desert lurks a couple of blocks away where the town comes to an abrupt end, then down another road where the desert is visible on the opposite side, and then back the way they’ve come where they can see a glimpse of ocean. Swakopmund is definitely the strangest town Harry has ever been in.

Unsurprisingly, the guy running Young Ones is a massive Louis fan as well. There are more hugs, manly pats on the back, big smiles, and catching-up chatter. Not wanting to intrude, since this is technically Louis’ private time, Harry loiters in the aisles, marvelling at the eclectic collection of objects for sale in a shop that’s technically a music shop. Shelves of cameras and accessories, batteries, torches, and other camping related equipment line one of the walls. A variety of rucksacks hang a bit further on, and he finds a strap that he can use to fix the fraying section of his camera bag. He moves on through watches and travel clocks and a tableful of gadgets he can’t identify, lingers a while over random curios and bits of art. Back near the door, he chooses a cap based on the Namibian flag, divided into sections of blue, green, red and white, with a big golden sun on the front, and tries on a few pairs of sunglasses before picking the ones that will offer the most protection to his eyes. 

At the back counter, the conversation’s going strong. Not a problem. Harry drifts over to the music section of the shop, trails his fingers over some guitars, adjusts a music stand that’s about to collapse, and alights on a battered old piano. He should probably ask permission, but he can hear Louis arguing passionately about some English football team, his opinion apparently outrageous to the proprietor. If there’s a problem, they will no doubt be quick to let him know.

The piano’s in tune. The keys feel comfortable and familiar after months of only playing Niall’s guitar and Harry eases through a few arpeggios before starting to pick out the melody of the desert song. As he goes along, he feels his way through potential harmonies, figures out a rhythm, discards it and tries something else. He has no idea how much time has passed when Louis’ voice cuts through his concentration.

“That’s beautiful, Harry.”

Surprise swivels him around in his seat. “I’m just experimenting.”

“Is that something you’ve written?”

“For a song we’re working on. Nothing much yet.” 

“Would you play it again for me?”

He’s self-conscious now, fingers uncertain on the keys beneath Louis’ scrutiny as he plays a possible intro. Without intending to, he starts singing aloud, softly at first, but as the song takes shape beneath his hands his voice reaches for it, blends with it, and takes control. Yes, perfect, this is the sound for this song. He needs to record it, make sure he doesn’t forget, so he can play it to Liam and Niall for their input. 

“Empty heart,” he slows down at the end of the final chorus, “I’ll be empty ‘til I see you again.” The last set of chords, more plaintive. “Please let me see you again.”

When he looks up, Louis’ gazing back. He looks like he did on the edge of the canyon, perched high on the dune. “You should be the singer, Haz. Your voice, it’s—I had no idea.”

“It’s nothing special.” Harry knows he can sing, but he doesn’t have the richness Niall has, lacks his emotional depths and mesmerising lilt. “Do you mind—is it all right if I play it again and record it for Niall and Liam? We were still working on the sound and I think they’ll like this version.”

“Of course. Give me your phone and I’ll record it for you.”

He’s more confident the second time, changes a couple of things, but overall it’s good. Satisfying. The lyrics need refining, but the structure of the song is solid and worth putting in the effort. 

“Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure, Haz. Next time Niall hosts a singalong, you’re joining in, yeah?”

Probably not, but he doesn’t want to upset the tentative truce they’re forming so he smiles and nods and shakes one of his curls down to obscure his eyes.

While he pays, Louis tracks down the bits and pieces he was after, then it’s more hugs before they’re out on the road again, where Harry dons his new sunglasses and cap. Louis looks at him with approval. “Now that’s what I like to see, my lad.”

He knows Louis doesn’t mean it that way, knows Louis isn’t asserting any form of ownership with his words, is just using a common phrase, but Harry thrills with pleasure. It also feels good knowing he’s pleased Louis. “I haven’t forgotten my promise. I’ll take proper care from now on.”

“As I remember, we had a bargain. I want a picture of me and the ocean. You interested?”

Louis is offering to spend more time with him? “Yes! Now?”

“Since we’re already out. It’s back down that way, we probably should have stopped on our way up here but I wanted you protected.” Louis starts walking. “Let’s go this way, there are some roadside murals I think you’ll appreciate.”

Harry does enjoy them, all bright colours and inspirational messages about love and being the change you want to see in the world, useful advice for him to add to his contemplations about his future. But today isn’t for worrying. Today is him and Louis rebuilding their friendship, Louis’ walls slowly withdrawing as Harry meticulously keeps things light and casual. Completely platonic. 

They reach the ocean and Louis runs like a maniac onto the beach, screaming wildly as he races the crashing waves. They splash him and he laughs, and Harry snaps picture after picture of Louis with one of the loves of his life. It’s a joyful homecoming, as interactive and physical as his reunions with his shop proprietor friends in town, and Harry feels privileged to witness it.

“C’mon, Haz,” Louis yells from where he’s dancing between the waves. He flung his shoes off halfway down the beach and his cut-offs are drenched. “Come enjoy the Atlantic! After tomorrow we won’t see it again.”

Unlike with Louis’ other friends, this time he’s inviting Harry to join in. Harry wastes no time in kicking off his own shoes and running into the water. It feels like being a kid again, uninhibited, free. Louis turns cartwheels on the sand. Harry falls on his head when he tries and they lie beside each other laughing hysterically up to the sky. 

They continue up the beach slightly more sedately once they’ve caught their breath, heading north to where Louis says is a sea wall called the Mole. “This was originally meant to be a harbour,” he informs Harry, “but the Benguela current brings so much sand up here from the desert to the south that it choked off the harbour and created this beach. The main port is now down the coast at Walvis Bay and Swakop has become more of a resort town.”

“What’s the Benguela current?”

“The reason for all this mist.” Louis points around at the tendrils of mist swirling around the beach, mist that didn’t exist in town. “It flows up here from Cape Point, where you were last week, and it’s really cold, which is why it causes this mist where it hits the hot desert air. Gives this whole place an eerie atmosphere, which I fucking love. I could live here, I reckon. Surfing’s not bad either.”

“I wouldn’t mind more time here,” Harry muses, trying not to picture Louis in a skintight wetsuit. “I want to learn about the German architecture and the history of the failed harbour and the original inhabitants. I didn’t expect such a fascinating place at all.”

“There’s a museum up by the Mole. Want to pay it a visit?”

“I’d love to. Is it easy to find?”

“I’ll show you. Wouldn’t mind stopping for a pastry along the way, though.”

“But we just had waffles.”

“Two hours ago, and I’m hungry again. Plus, I always love eating any food I haven’t made.”

It’s a shame that Louis makes such good food but doesn’t enjoy the process. Harry would. Maybe Harry should give everything else up and lead tours across Africa. Or if he got his truck driving licence, he could drive for Louis and do the cooking, then all Louis would have to do is take care of his passengers, which he clearly loves, and enjoy hanging out with the friends he has along the way. 

It’s not hard for Louis to find a German bakery. It still fucks with Harry’s head to find a German settlement in the African desert, but he persuades Louis to let him pay for two apple strudels and they take a wander down the Mole while they demolish them. 

The museum is everything Harry hoped it would be. He’d half feared Louis would drop him at the door and disappear to make the most of the remainder of his day off, but Louis takes it for granted that they’re both going in, buys two tickets and strides confidently inside the low yellow building. For once he doesn’t know the people who run it, but it doesn’t take long before he’s buddies with the two old women who seem to be in charge. It turns out that one of them is the aunt-in-law of Anja of the waffles (Harry hadn’t realised Anja was married; nor should it matter) and she’s soon pulling out the pictures of grandchildren and babies. Usually Harry would be very interested, but he leaves Louis to his socialising so he can investigate the intriguing history of Namibia, former German colony and the second-least populated country on earth after Mongolia.

More than two hours have passed when his phone buzzes with a message from Liam. 

**Li** : _Skydiving was brill. We r back at the lodge. Where r u??_

 **Harry:** _At the museum. With Louis._

 **Li:** _Thought it’s his day off?_

 **Harry:** _It is! He invited me and he’s been showing me all over town. I got my cap and sunglasses, and we went to the beach. Also, there’s a music shop called Young Ones where I recorded a piano version of Empty Heart I think you’ll like._

 **Li:** _H._

 **Harry:** _It’s all him. I swear._

 **Li:** _Does this mean u r skipping the township tour? It’s about to start._

Harry might regret it. Louis might dump him the moment they leave the museum. But he might not, and Harry’s not giving up the chance just to see another township.

**Harry:** _See you after._

 **Li:** _Be smart._

He is, though. That’s what this whole day is about, re-establishing his and Louis’ friendship after his inappropriateness at the desert camp. Showing Louis that Harry isn’t a threat, doesn’t have ulterior motives in wanting to spend time with him, isn’t sexually harassing him. 

Harry flushes at the thought. He’s never been that person and he didn’t mean to be with Louis. Even if there hadn’t been that charged moment of sexual awareness between them that didn’t all come from Harry, Louis isn’t available and Harry respects that. Hopefully he’s proving that to Louis today. 

“Have you seen enough here, Haz?”

Louis’ found him, and he hastily stuffs his phone away. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’ve just realised we won’t get back to the lodge in time for you to do your township tour.”

“It’s okay. I lost track of time in all the exhibits, but this was great. I really enjoyed it.”

“I have to go on a supply run this afternoon, stock up for the next week until Maun.” Louis fidgets with the cap in his hands, eyes darting around the exhibits. “Since you missed your tour, you’re welcome to experience a trip to the local grocery store with me. I know it’s not that exciting, and you probably want to explore more of the town, but I thought—maybe—you might want to help plan the next week’s meals within our limited budget?”

It sounds like Louis wants him to come. It’s not phrased in language that’s trying politely to get rid of Harry, but more like he’s trying to persuade Harry to join him. Harry had mentally resigned himself to an afternoon alone in the library when Louis started speaking, but there’s no way he’s missing this if Louis doesn’t mind his company. “I’d love to.”

“Yeah?” Louis’ nose crinkles with his smile. “That won’t be too boring for you?”

“What, having input into our menus and getting to learn about buying in bulk? No, Lou, I really would love to.”

“Excellent. Pick’n’Pay is a few blocks from here in the centre of town. We can head there via the arcade. Very picturesque, lots of German architecture for you. Then when we get back, you can show me your pictures.”

He really is going to get the rest of the day with Louis! “Excellent.” Harry grins as he echoes Louis’ favourite word. 

*

Shopping is fun. Harry had no idea of the strategic planning that went into stretching a small budget into a week’s worth of healthy but also filling and tasty meals for twenty people that could be easily prepared outdoors. They stock up on cereal, a dozen loaves of bread, several dozen eggs, dry pasta, a huge bag of rice, cans of beans and corn and peas, meat that Louis consults the butcher about while kindly sending Harry to retrieve more of the giant bags of Doritos that supplement their lunchtime salads, and then they collect a vast array of fresh vegetables and fruit. It’s far cheaper than in the UK, and looks mouth-watering. 

“Can I get an extra bunch of bananas?” Harry asks. “They’re nicer snacks than crisps.”

Louis clutches at his chest as though he’s having a heart attack. “Harry Styles, I don’t think I can know you any more!”

“But they are, though.”

“Sacrilege is what this is. I should get Zayn to ban you from the truck.” 

That reminds Harry. “Where is Zayn? Is he okay with spending the day alone?”

“There’s a problem with Shamwari.” Louis adds two more banana bunches to their trolley and waves Harry away when he tries to keep them separate so he can pay for them. “I’m not sure what, I’m useless in that department, but she was struggling a bit yesterday so he has her at the garage today. It should be fine, we have good guys here. We had to have a replacement truck driven to us once in the Serengeti, but I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

Harry hadn’t considered the stress of keeping the truck healthy along the journey. That’s obviously a part of Zayn’s job. Maybe it’s not the career path for him after all. 

Louis calls a taxi to take them the three blocks back to the lodge. He introduces the driver as Ed to Harry and introduces Harry to Ed as “a good mate of mine”. When they arrive, Harry helps Ed carry everything inside while Louis negotiates with the manager of the lodge to let him use their refrigeration since Shamwari isn’t back yet for him to put the groceries away. 

Harry’s nervous about showing his pictures to Louis. It’s silly, it’s not like Louis hasn’t seen hundreds of tourist photographs before, he won’t judge Harry for not being good enough or special enough. Taking advantage of their in-room electricity, Harry spent several hours last night sorting through his folders for the trip so far, weeding out the bad or less interesting ones, noting which were viable documentary candidates and which he simply loved for themselves. He also made a separate folder for pictures of Louis, which may now prove to be a bit embarrassing. 

“I put them all together so I could give them to you easily,” he stammers as he navigates through folders on his travel laptop. 

“Let’s see what else you’ve taken first.” Louis slips into the chair next to him with two steaming cups of tea he’s just made from Anja’s offerings. “Spiced apple chai,” he says, sliding one towards Harry. “If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it, but I think you will.”

Harry opens his album from their Cape Peninsula tour and busies himself with the spicy tea while Louis clicks through the pictures. He laughs at the ones of Niall and Liam with penguins on Boulders Beach, marvels at the colours of the sea from the cliffs, keeping up a running commentary on his own experiences there until Harry starts to relax. He knew there’d be no judgment, but he feels like he’s exposing himself in a way that feels far more revealing than when Louis saw him naked. If Louis doesn’t like what he sees through Harry’s camera, it will hurt. 

“Table Mountain next,” Louis orders imperiously. 

He wants more. 

And after Table Mountain and the Stellenbosch vineyards, he moves on to the Orange River, to Harry and Niall’s giggly selfies on the Namibian bank amongst the reeds and the striated dark cliffs of the gorge he and Liam explored by canoe. There are far too many pictures of the back of Liam’s head in the front of the canoe, and Harry makes a mental note to delete more of them. Louis enthuses about the Ai-Ais photographs, despite Harry’s obsession with the chunks of quartz in the ground taking up most of them, then they reach the dunes.

“Where are your pictures of the sunrise, Haz?”

Oh. They’re all in the Louis album, because he didn’t take any that didn’t include Louis. Harry can’t think of any explanation, so he leans over and clicks open the Louis folder without comment.

Louis goes silent. He stares at the folder with its dozens of pictures of himself in the sunrise, blinks very rapidly, then arrows down within the folder. Altogether, including the pictures from the canyon and various other moments where Harry’s caught Louis in pictures without Louis’ knowledge, there are over a hundred and fifty individual photographs in the folder. 

“So when you say you took _several_ pictures of me,” Louis says eventually, before trailing off, still arrowing down through them.

“I’ll delete them,” Harry assures him, “if you want me to. You’re just—you’re really photogenic, Lou. It’s hard to stop myself sometimes. I took some of you today too, which you can also tell me to delete.”

He reaches out towards the computer and Louis’ hands splay over it protectively. “No! I didn’t say delete. Don’t touch them.”

Harry stills. “Okay.”

“What I want,” Louis says, keeping his hands splayed, “is for you to show me the ones you like the best. And then give me those ones.”

“I can do that.”

“Don’t delete any.”

“I won’t.”

“And you can continue to take as many as you want. I don’t mind. Not when they look like this.” He double taps one from the canyon so it opens up. The look on his face isn’t that different to his expression in the photograph as he gazes at the sunset. “You’re really gifted at this, Harry.”

“Like I said, you’re a good subject.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” And there’s Louis’ cheeky grin, but behind it he’s glowing. He clicks through the pictures one by one, clearly slightly embarrassed but not at all affronted by Harry’s obsession with him. When he reaches the dune pictures, he pauses. “You were supposed to photograph the sunrise, Haz.”

“I did. My interpretation of it.”

“More like my interpretation, since it’s the expressions on my face.” Louis continues through the section, shaking his head. “Do I really look like that?”

“To me and to my camera,” Harry says seriously. 

“I can see why Niall wanted you to document his tour and this trip, too. You see something in people, things even they don’t know are there.”

Harry doesn’t. His camera reveals things sometimes, but it’s all in the subject, not him. He has a good eye for composition and lighting, but that’s about it. 

“I got you something, by the way.” Finished with the pictures, Louis sounds nervous. “It’s no big deal, I was in the bookshop yesterday anyway. It’s in my room.” He shifts out of his chair and turns the laptop back to face Harry. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really hungry. Zayn and I were planning to go out for pizza this evening. Since you’re missing your traditional dinner, do you want—you’re welcome to join us.”

Louis is inviting him for dinner? It’s with Zayn too, but that’s perfect. Safe. Friendly. “Yes, please.” He closes the laptop and gets to his feet. “I’m still all sweaty and sandy, though.”

“Of course, yeah, me too.” Louis has ridiculously gorgeous eyelashes, and how is Harry supposed to keep his attraction under control when he blinks up at Harry through them so appealingly? “How about we go clean up and meet back here in—a half hour from now?”

“Okay.”

Louis pats his messy hair and grimaces. “Maybe an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	9. Chapter 9

**Day 9 – Louis**

**Swakopmund to Spitzkoppe, Namibia**

“You’re kidding.” Louis stares at Zayn over his blankets. 

“Sorry.” Zayn shrugs, unruffled by the force of Louis’ displeasure. “The guy who’s bringing the part has been held up.”

“So when do they think it’ll come?”

“Today. Hopefully by lunchtime.”

“We’re supposed to be almost in Spitzkoppe by lunch time.”

Zayn shrugs again, definitely his most infuriating habit. “At least it’s not a long driving day. We’ll still get there.”

“ _If_ the part arrives by lunch time. Will we still have time to stop at Cape Cross? Annette and Hayley are particularly excited about seeing the seals.”

“Don’t see why not.” 

“How long will it take to—” Shit, Louis is bad with vehicular terminology. “Insert? Is that the right word?” He has no clue. “—the part once it gets here?”

“Five minutes.”

“And we can’t go on without it?”

“Not if you want to get to Nairobi.”

Okay, this is fine, Louis has handled far worse before. At least they were in a town when the truck broke so Zayn’s not dealing with this on his own and they’re still in relative civilisation and not out in the middle of the bush. “Guess I’d better get to breakfast then and break the news to everyone.” The blankets were snuggly and the air is horribly cold when he pushes them back. That reminds him, he needs to find what happened to his red hoodie. This delay will give him a chance to dig for it. He can’t possibly have left it behind, surely. Especially not after Michelle so kindly repaired it for him. 

“Louis, Jesus.” Zayn rolls his eyes when Louis clambers out of bed in his underwear.

Louis looks down at his briefs, which are not doing the best they could as far as containing the remnants of his dream (which he is not thinking of and will never think of again—he’s not responsible for what his subconscious does while he’s asleep, all right?). “Be glad I sleep with underwear on,” he says darkly. “Not everyone does.” As his subconscious remembers all too well. 

The jeans from dinner last night will do for now, and he won’t bother to rush through a shower before breakfast if they’re going to be here all morning. He should wear a different shirt, but a vanity he should be ashamed of makes him pull out the same one because Harry remarked that it looked beautiful with his eyes and Louis needs to stop thinking like that. That’s what the whole ordeal of yesterday was about, remember? Re-establishing their platonic friendship. Platonic friends don’t care if they look beautiful to each other. 

Harry did so well yesterday, Louis feels like he could burst with pride in him. He was so shy and scared at first, petrified of scaring Louis off—and, yes, Louis drew out his revenge for a lot longer than Harry deserved, especially since Harry was by far not the only one at fault. But the power went to his head, having Harry so desperate to please him, trying so hard to read his wishes and to comply and be good and rescue what they’d almost lost between them. It mattered so much to Harry that they regain their friendship, and—well, to be honest, Louis isn’t used to mattering that much to anyone. 

It’s thrilling.

And he abused that power and it wasn’t fair of him and that has to stop immediately.

As he follows Zayn across the courtyard to the breakfast room, he thinks maybe he made up for it a little bit last night by giving Harry his present. It’s not like it was meant as a reward, God knows he bought it before he knew what Harry planned to do, when he thought they might be broken for good and it was wisest to just let it be, but the way Harry’s face lit up when Louis placed the _Stargazing_ _in the Southern Hemisphere_ book in his hands made Louis want to keep him feeling like that perpetually. To do that, though, he needs to be around Harry. In a safe way. 

Last night was a good start, a casual dinner for three. Zayn didn’t say much, allowing Louis to dominate as usual, but Harry was considerate and constantly drew him into the conversation. He found out all sorts of things about Zayn. How the fuck did Harry get out of him not only that he has three sisters (Louis only knew he had several siblings) but that two are younger and he’s particularly close to one of those two. Harry even got their names (and probably still remembers them, which is more than Louis can say for himself). And how did Louis not know Zayn moved from Bradford to Cape Town when he was twelve? Where did Louis get the idea that Zayn was too little to remember Bradford, or England in general, when he left? 

Louis should ask Harry to take some pictures of Zayn. He’s curious to discover what Harry will reveal, the way he managed such a searing exposure of Louis. 

Although, to be honest, Louis’ still not a hundred percent that he really looks like that. Maybe Harry manipulated the images and combined them with something else, someone else. Louis is far too ordinary to be so breathtaking. He’s all messy hair that’s streaked by the sun and skinny arms and unmasculine curves and funny ugly freckles and boring blue eyes and a mouth that never stops moving and drives everyone around him mad. 

He’s never seen himself so at peace as Harry’s photographs showed him. 

Setting up with his self-made cuppa, Louis grabs some slices of toast and arranges himself at a table near the door so he can catch each person as they arrive for breakfast to break the news about the delayed departure. Several people light up with the excitement of having extra time to explore the town or shop for curios and souvenirs. A few worry about the implications on their timetable, and Zayn’s certainty better be dependable and not make Louis out to be a liar. Michael grumbles, annoyed, about incompetence and unprofessionalism, but Vicky reminds him he wanted a chance to visit the museum. 

“Excellent museum, that,” Louis avers honestly. At least he presumes it’s honestly. Harry was absorbed for several hours, which speaks well of it. “It’s right down by the Mole, which is worth a visit as well.”

“But you’re supposed to provide us with lunch today. We’re not meant to have to buy our own.”

“I’ll be compensating everyone the budgeted price of lunch when we get to Spitzkoppe tonight.”

“We saw a lovely game restaurant on Thursday,” Vicky puts in with a warm smile, resting a hand on her husband’s tense arm. “We can stop there after the museum.”

Louis marvels at the way Michael softens, even though his eyes still blaze at Louis. “If you let me have your phone number, I can text you to confirm the time we’ll leave once the part gets here.” 

“What a clever idea.” Vicky fills in the makeshift form he’s conjured up on the back of a paper place mat and turns Michael towards the coffee. “Have a good morning, Louis, and we’ll see you later.”

Louis’ favourite reaction is Niall’s. As soon as he comprehends that they’re not leaving until after midday, he swivels on the spot without a word and disappears. “And that? Where’s he going?”

“To bed,” Harry says, voice morning-rough. 

“Doesn’t he want breakfast?”

“Not as much as he wants sleep.”

“He ended up on stage last night giving an impromptu concert to the locals,” Liam explains, “and we were up half the night with them because he wanted to learn their instruments. On top of skydiving and dune boarding, his tank is dry and sleep is the only thing that revives him.”

“I’ll make him a sandwich and keep it for him later,” Harry says. “Will we be stopping anywhere to buy snacks this afternoon?”

“Since we’re not expecting to get the part before lunch, I’d advise taking him out for a good meal. Or, if he wants to sleep until the last minute, get takeaway pizza and bring it with us.”

“We can do that?” 

Louis laughs at Liam’s enthusiasm. “I don’t mind. Other than Windhoek, we won’t see pizza again for about two weeks, so make the most of it while you can.”

“Cool.” 

Louis should let them get their breakfast, but he’s curious. “So what do you and Harry plan to do with your free morning besides buying pizza?”

“I should work on my pictures,” Harry says, “since we have electricity. Do you think they’d mind if I set up in here to work?”

“Not at all. It becomes a general common room after breakfast’s finished.”

“Did Harry show you the picture he took of Niall at Deadvlei?” Liam asks, sounding just as excited as he did over the pizza. “The one we’re going to use for the album cover?”

“We don’t know that,” Harry interjects. “There’s still a long way to go.”

“Nope, it’ll be that one.” Liam grins complacently as he heads for the cereal bar, before calling over his shoulder to Harry, “Show him.”

Harry winces. “He’s already planning the marketing campaign around that picture, I can tell.”

“Is that one of the pictures I saw last night?”

“It’s in a different folder. Niall’s version of the one of you?” His inflection goes up as though Louis might not remember that Harry has taken a hundred and fifty-nine photographs of him. And that’s just the ones he’s kept, so who knows how many he might have discarded. 

“Is it violating, like, some secret code if you show me before Liam launches his campaign?”

“A secret code?” Harry gets a very cute little furrow in his brow when he’s confused. Louis might make it his personal mission to see it more often. 

“I don’t know anything about publicity or the music world. Aren’t there complicated contracts with secret-keeping clauses—”

“NDAs,” Harry supplies. “Non-disclosure agreements.”

“Yeah, those.” As if Louis has a clue. “Don’t you sign your soul away to become a successful musician?”

“No. I mean, maybe? If you sign with the wrong people?” The furrow deepens. “Niall’s had offers from some of the bigger players but he’d rather build up slowly on his own terms so he’s staying independent for now. It means less money, less publicity, less of everything, really, but more control and that’s what he and Liam want. He doesn’t want to be a huge star, you know. He doesn’t sing the kind of music that’s in right now, and he doesn’t want to change that. So Liam’s walking a fine line. Honestly, I’m not the one to talk to about that, you should ask Liam if you’re interested, but you’re right about it being a dangerous business.”

“Much safer trundling through the wild animals of Africa,” Louis says solemnly. “Don’t think I’ll throw it over for a recording contract.”

Harry’s face lightens, the furrow smoothing away. “D’you sing?”

“I had delusions once when I was a kid. But no. Nothing like you and Niall. Speaking of, I still haven’t got Niall’s album off him and I want to listen to it in the truck.”

“Oh, I can give it to you.” Harry is nicely distracted from a topic Louis prefers to forget about. “Will you still be here after breakfast or should I go fetch my computer now?”

“I have to go pack my shit, but I’ll come back here.”

“Great.” Harry ventures a smile, a thousand miles away from the distancing smirk he used during the first couple of days Louis knew him. “I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

*

The part duly arrives. Louis has time for a shower and the confirmation that his red hoodie is nowhere to be found, which means he’ll be very cold in the evenings going forward and it’s all his own stupid fault. That might be the reason Michelle was so snappy with him when he called her on Thursday evening, if she’d found it discarded after working from her sickbed to mend it for him. Careless Louis. He must do better.

He also has time to while away several hours in the common room, sorting out his first week of paperwork while trying not to watch Harry across the table from him. Harry gets astonishingly absorbed when he edits his pictures. If only Louis was capable of concentrating like that, university would have been a lot easier and maybe he’d have stayed instead of dropping out. 

Harry went to Manchester, just like Louis did. They’d have overlapped by at least a year, going by what Harry told Zayn last night. Imagine if they’d met there. Harry might have sauntered into the pub where Louis and Michelle worked, might’ve sat down to be served during one of Louis’ shifts and Louis could have struck up a conversation and—snap—instant friends. 

If Louis had just managed to hold on for long enough instead of fleeing the country.

But he didn’t, so he missed Harry. Except here Harry is on Louis’ own truck as one of Louis’ passengers. 

Maybe they’re fated to be friends. Maybe they would always have met somewhere in the world, no matter what decisions they made. If they’d gone to different universities, Louis might’ve ended up teaching Harry’s daughter. Or if he needed a lawyer one day, it could’ve been Harry. Or, if they both ended up living in London, the pub scenario might have happened there. Or if Louis’ relationship with Michelle had ended when she returned to Cape Town and he decided to face the side of himself he’d kept hidden, he could’ve tried out a gay bar and bumped into Harry.

Stop.

Or out of the UK altogether, if they both went backpacking to Thailand and ended up sharing a hostel room in Phuket—

_Stop._

Louis swallows hard and removes his gaze from the hollow of Harry’s flushed cheeks. Harry has been so good today, meticulous to maintain the easy friendship they managed to create out of the debacle of yesterday. Louis owes it to him to do the same. To stop sabotaging Harry’s worthy intentions. 

Whatever they might have been in a different universe, this is what they are here: friends. Louis has a girlfriend. He loves her. They’ve been committed to each other for years. He’s not destroying that just because his eyes can’t stop roaming Harry’s nice little body that he shouldn’t be noticing in the first place because he trained himself to stop doing that nearly half his lifetime ago. 

“What’s wrong, Lou?” Harry’s voice breaks through his determination. “You look very fierce. What are you thinking about?”

Shit. Panicking, Louis blurts, “I was thinking about Michelle.”

“Oh.” Harry nods understandingly. “You must miss her a lot.”

“I—I do.”

“It can’t be easy for a relationship, being away so much. I don’t know how you do it.”

Other than missing sex, it’s never been that hard for Louis, but that doesn’t seem an appropriate thing to mention to Harry, who’s gazing at him with such sympathy and understanding that Louis wants to crawl under a rock. He’s a horrible person. He hasn’t been a good boyfriend—and, worst of all, he didn’t even notice. Michelle got him through the worst time of his life, she offered him shelter and an escape and put up with his devastation and grief, and even found him a career to channel his energy into when he was getting to the point where he struggled to avoid the more dangerous waves because of the promise they offered. She’s given him a home and steady support and love…and how much has he given her in return? He always thought he was a catch and she was lucky to have him—a thought which makes shame shiver through him now. 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice slides through Louis’ mortification.

He looks up but can’t manage to speak. 

The sympathy in Harry’s eyes has increased. “Can I give you a hug?” 

He has no right to accept the offer of comfort.

“It’s just—you look so sad and—I can’t imagine how hard it is and I—just—please?”

He can’t say no. Instead he turns sideways in his chair and opens his arms and Harry’s there, pressed hard against him, wrapping his long arms tightly around Louis’ back. 

Louis can’t cry. For fuck’s sake. He has no right to be upset. If Harry had any idea what Louis’ done, any idea what a horrible, terrible person Louis is, he’d be disgusted. 

And yet Louis clings to him.

One of Harry’s hands comes up to gently stroke his head. It’s just like Louis’ mother used to—

He jerks away.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly as he grabs his paperwork. “I’d better go see what’s happening with the truck. The part should be here by now.”

He flees.

*

The part is indeed ready and Louis busies himself sending off all the text messages to collect his herd. Instead of returning to the common room, he hangs out with Zayn, pretending he’s learning something about engines. Hey, you never know when his knowledge of having once watched Zayn insert whatever this is will come in handy. 

Half an hour later, Harry gives him a supportive little smile as he climbs on board with his friends and Louis feels like shit, so when the truck pulls out of Swakopmund he puts on some rap, loud as he can, and blasts his and Zayn’s eardrums with it all the way up the misty coast to Cape Cross and the fur seal colony. 

Leaving Zayn to fiddle further with the truck, he leads everyone down to the boardwalk that winds along the beach in between the thousands of seals that make up the colony. They’re in fine form today, barking and squawking as they play on the sand or in the giant waves that crash onto the rocks, a racket that helps keep his thoughts at bay as he ambles along with Hayley, Rolf and Annette, imparting what knowledge he has about Cape fur seals, Diego Câo, the Portuguese explorer who erected the cross the reserve is named after, and the grisly way the Skeleton Coast lives up to its name.

“So, yeah,” he finishes off, “over a thousand shipwrecks are scattered between here and Angola, but they’re not why it’s called the Skeleton Coast. Anyone know where the name originated?”

“From the skeletons of all the whales and seals that the whaling industry left behind.” 

Louis whips around to see Liam approaching, Harry and Niall not far behind. “That’s right, Liam.”

Hayley grimaces. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Annette drops a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Shall we go down there to see more of the seals?”

“The living ones, yes.” Hayley turns to Rolf. “Will you take some close ups of the babies for me? Your camera is much better than mine.”

“Sure, no problem,” he says amiably, and just like that Louis finds himself left alone with Liam, Niall and Harry.

“And then there were four,” Liam observes. “Was it something we did?”

“Maybe they thought the stench of the seals was coming from you.” Niall laughs at his own joke, even harder when Liam mock punches him. 

Louis forces himself to laugh too. “It’s particularly bad at the moment,” he acknowledges. “In winter it’s not so bad, but it’s never pleasant.”

“They’re really cute, though.” 

“They are. I love it at this time of year when there are so many pups.”

“I’m glad we didn’t miss out on this stop,” Harry says. He’s been taking photographs but he lowers his camera and leans against the wooden barrier to watch some of the seals tumble around the waves nearby. “They look like they’re having so much fun.”

Louis should agree politely and then move on to find another collection of passengers who might be interested in his limited seal and shipwreck expertise. Instead he props his elbows on the wood. He’s wearing the only shirt he possesses with long sleeves so the skin of his elbows is protected, even though it’s not doing much good against the chilly ocean breeze. “This will make a good Instagram video, Liam,” he suggests, as though he knows the first thing about the live coverage of their trip that Liam’s doing, other than that it’s happening. We won’t have internet access tomorrow, but we’ll have some in Etosha.”

“Those seals look like they’re trying to surf,” Niall points out. “Get some footage of them, Li.”

Liam obligingly pulls out his camera and the four of them fall silent so that the video records nothing but the mayhem of the seals and the thunderous waves.

It’s crazy, but Louis loves it here. He gets the seals. He’d happily be a seal if it meant he could spend the rest of his life frolicking amidst the waves. 

“Is there good surfing along this coast?” Liam asks when he puts his camera away. “Or is it too dangerous?”

Now here’s a topic Louis has considerable expertise in. “The surfing’s excellent, but it’s not easy. Definitely not for beginners. I want to get a bit more practice down in Cape Town before I attempt anything up here. The best waves are further south, between Swakop and Walvis Bay, but people surf here at the Cross, too.”

Liam looks longingly at the waves. “I definitely need more surfing in my life.”

“You should think of writing the next album somewhere like Cape Town. Or Sydney maybe. Or Hawaii.”

“Harry said he wants to try Thailand. Any surfing there?”

Thailand. Which Louis suggested. “I believe Bali’s better, even the Philippines.” Louis once spent an evening in a beach bar in Zanzibar with a group of guys who travelled the world surfing, listening with envy to the hot debate about where to find the best surf. What he’d give to be able to live that life, nothing but him and the next good wave. “Thailand’s great for diving, though. Did you dive in Greece with Harry?”

“Scuba diving? Yeah, all three of us did, but I’d love to do more.”

“Maybe if this album works out we could plan a diving holiday there,” Niall says. “But we’ll have to wait until next summer when Harry’s finished his legal course.”

It must be nice to have a loyal group of friends like this. Louis had one once, but it was a long time ago. “Are you planning another tour?” he asks Niall. 

“Liam wants to do a bigger one.” He shrugs, looking slightly vulnerable for the first time since Louis’ known him. “I’m not sure I’m big enough for that, but the last one went pretty well.”

“Sold out in many locations,” Harry puts in, without turning around.

“If we get the radio play we’re hoping for,” Liam says, “then you’ll definitely be big enough. But first we have to make sure this is a cracking album.”

“Harry played me one of your new songs on the piano.” After he says it, Louis suddenly worries that maybe he wasn’t meant to reveal that, maybe it’s supposed to be a secret, but Niall nods knowingly.

“Yeah, _Empty Heart._ What did you think? I love the arrangement he came up with.”

“It was beautiful.” Harry was beautiful. He should be singing as well as taking pictures and becoming a lawyer and all the other things he’s into. Louis had no idea he had such a rich, emotional voice. “It sounded like a good start for your album. How many songs do you need for it?”

“We’ll probably write forty or fifty, and then choose from there.” 

Louis’ mouth drops open. “Are you serious? You write that many?”

“Sometimes you know a song will definitely be on the album when you’re writing it, but the more songs you have, the better quality you’re likely to end up with.” Harry finally turns around to look at the rest of them, and when his eyes land on Louis, his brow furrows. “Lou, you’re shivering.”

He’s been trying not to notice. “I’m fine. Maybe a quick jog to the end of the boardwalk and back is in order.”

Liam lights up. “You run?”

“God, no.” Louis turns his shivers into a theatrical shudder. “I surf and I play footie and that’s it when it comes to physical exercise.”

“Here.” Harry’s pulled off the blue hoodie he’s wearing and stuffs it into Louis’ hands. “Put this on.”

“I’m not taking your hoodie, Haz.” Louis tries to give it back, but Harry refuses to take it.

“I’m not cold. I’m only wearing it because Liam said I should, but I’m hot. See?” He curls a warm hand around Louis’ icy one. “Shit, Lou, you’re freezing.”

Louis doesn’t want to let him go. He’s like a hot water bottle and Louis wants to cuddle up to his heat. “Why on earth are you so hot?”

“Can’t help it.” He squeezes Louis’ hand. “Please put my hoodie on.”

“Okay.” God help him, but Louis can’t resist. It retains the heat from Harry’s body, settling warmly around him, soaking deep into his bones. It feels like Harry’s hugging him, which he still doesn’t deserve but he’ll take it, take this, snuggle into the pleasure of feeling safe and cared for and let it carry him through this troubling day of rare self-perception. 

Harry looks pleased, too, and Louis’ willing to do a lot for that. 

They stand there in the wind, watching the seals, without speaking. They don’t need to. This is enough.

*

Much to Zayn’s evident relief, Louis leaves off the music when they turn inland, away from the chilling mist and towards the island mountains of Spitzkoppe. He still feels unsettled, but burrows deeper into Harry’s hoodie each time a shiver of panic runs through him. Even though the afternoon rapidly warms as they head deeper into the desert, he doesn’t feel ready to part from it. 

There are a lot of things he’s been avoiding dealing with for the past several years. It seems his time of ignoring them is up. 

But he doesn’t get much chance to start contemplating because it quickly becomes evident that Shamwari isn’t happy. She starts juddering and sputtering, and suddenly the engine turns off. 

“What’s going on?”

“Overheating.” Zayn scowls down at the blinking light in front of him. “Might be in deep shit, Louis.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Can’t do anything until she cools down. She was fine on the coast because it was cool, but it’s too hot here in the sun.”

“So you’re telling me the part didn’t work?”

“Not as well as I’d hoped.”

“Can we make it to Spitzkoppe?” 

Zayn considers, jaw tight. “Slowly. With some stops and a hell of a lot of water.”

“Water we have, I filled up all our tanks before we left.” Always important before venturing into the desert. “And we can get more at Spitzkoppe.” There may be no showers there, but there’s a tap. “Will we get to Etosha? Or do we need to go straight to Windhoek?” The passengers won’t be pleased to end up in the capital city instead of on safari in the esteemed game park. “Tell me, Zayn.”

“I don’t know!” Zayn shakes his head. “I’m thinking. Give me a sec.”

“Okay, sorry.” Michael is banging on the window in the door between the cab and the passengers’ section. Louis has to get out there and tell them something. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes. Maybe. Fuck. I don’t know.”

“All right.” He’s never seen Zayn look stressed before. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

Instead of clambering through, he opens the door beside him and hops down. When he climbs the steps at the back, he’s met with heads popping up from all the seats like meerkats, and he wants to laugh. Instead, he clutches at the ends of the too-long hoodie sleeves. “We’re gonna have a bit of a break here, guys. Nothing to worry about, just a touch of overheating of the engine in the desert sun. So get out, stretch your legs, find a bush—oh, sorry, no bushes around here, I guess, but if you need the loo I’m sure you can improvise something for privacy. There’s certainly no one else around. Remember to keep hydrated, yeah?”

While he talks he makes sure to meet each person’s eyes at least once, lingering a bit on those who look anxious, infusing his voice with soothing warmth since the last thing he wants is mass consternation. He leaves Harry for last. 

Harry isn’t even looking at him—or, at least, isn’t looking at his eyes. He’s fixated on the rest of Louis that’s all hidden beneath—oh. The hoodie. Harry’s hoodie. That Louis is wearing despite temperatures in the mid-thirties outside. 

He’s so cold inside he’s not sure he’ll ever warm up, and he crosses his arms protectively over his chest. Harry’s eyes track the movement then flick up to meet Louis’.

They’re filled with blazing satisfaction. 

Louis can’t remember what he was saying. 

“So, um, yeah, just be sensible in the sun,” he mumbles, “and we’ll be on our way again shortly. Harry, sunscreen?”

Harry tugs it out of the pocket of his shorts. “Here and on my face.”

“Good boy.”

Harry colours, and Louis belatedly realises how inappropriate that sounded. 

“Come on, boys and girls,” he raises his voice, “get a move on. Let’s get those lazy legs of yours some action.”

They were supposed to spend the afternoon climbing the rocks of Spitzkoppe, but at this rate it’ll be sunset by the time they arrive. 

*

He’s wrong. At sunset they’re parked at the side of the dirt road again, everyone taking pictures of the magnificent colours over the distant peaks of their destination. Each stop is shorter as evening approaches since the temperature’s dropping, and soon he’s calling them all back inside for the final leg. They arrive in pitch blackness. Everyone runs around with head torches and Louis pitches in to help erect tents and guide people to the out-of-the-way shacks that house drop toilets. Zayn builds a fire, then provides a distraction in the form of the bushman fireworks he picked up on the way into the camp, an alchemy between various minerals found in the desert that cause eruptions of neon green sparks, while Liam, Yolanda, Vicky and Marya help Louis prepare their efficient dinner of a creamy vegetable pasta. 

“Sorry you have to miss the fireworks,” Louis says when Liam remains behind to cut up the final vegetables so the women get the chance to see the end of the show. 

“I don’t mind. I had a hell of a time persuading Harry not to swap with me again.”

“He likes to cook, does he?” Louis stirs the pasta, testing the meat to see how much longer before he can add the remaining veg. 

“Since he was a kid. He always used to beg his mum to let him cook dinner. And Niall and I ate a lot better at uni than anyone else we knew.”

“You’ve known Harry most of your lives then?” Louis tries to sound casual, like he’s making small talk.

“He and I grew up together, our mums were best friends and we lived next door to each other. Can’t remember a time I didn’t know H. Niall was his roommate in uni, and—well, you know what he’s like. It felt like he’d always been part of us.”

That’s a lovely friendship to have. All three of them are lucky. 

“Louis, can I ask you something?”

The tension in Liam’s voice sets Louis on guard. “Sure.”

Putting down the broccoli, Liam turns fully to face him in the firelight. “You know we’re filming and taking pictures for Niall’s social media and an eventual behind-the-scenes video, right?”

Not what Louis was expecting. “Right.”

“We were—I was wondering, would you be allowed to be in them? The pictures and videos, I mean. While we were in Swakopmund I got releases from most of the passengers, but I didn’t get a chance to ask you. Zayn said he thought you’d be fine with it, but Harry wouldn’t ask you so—I hope you don’t mind?”

“Harry wouldn’t ask me?”

“He said he didn’t want to take advantage.” Liam rolls his eyes at himself. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

Of course Harry would feel that way. “Wait. You spoke to Zayn?”

“He’s a pretty cool guy.”

Yes, he is. Only he doesn’t usually talk to passengers. “Did he sign a release?”

“He wasn’t thrilled about it, but he did. He didn’t tell you?”

“I think the truck problems have consumed his focus all day.”

The stress of the moment of asking over, Liam turns back to his broccoli. “Zayn said we might have to get Shamwari replaced?”

That’s news to Louis. It’s that bad? “When did he say that?”

Liam shrugs. “At the last stop. He was drawing the mountains and showed me a bit of his sketchbook.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn doesn’t even let Louis see inside that thing. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Ready for the broccoli?” Liam peers down at the bubbling pot then dumps the broccoli in, whether Louis was ready for it or not. “Like I said, he’s a cool guy.”

Louis can’t wait to get Zayn alone in their tent tonight. There’s a serious grilling headed Zayn’s way. Apparently it’s not his art that Zayn speaks through, but via the medium of one Liam Payne. Louis should keep Liam around as a Zayn interpreter if this is the case. He stabs at the pasta, trying to decide how he feels about it. What does Liam have that Louis doesn’t? Brown eyes? An appealing smile? Why is Zayn all so chatty with him when he’s ignored Louis for literal years? 

Oh fuck. Is Louis just as shit a friend as he is a boyfriend? All this time he’s thought he and Zayn were mates and, what, Zayn was just enduring him and waiting for a bunch of nice boys to come along to befriend? Because he opened up to Harry too, at dinner, didn’t he? Next thing, Louis’ going to discover that Niall’s got Zayn jamming along with him on the guitar and guest soloing on his album. Zayn will leave Louis, leave Africa behind, go back to England and join Niall’s tour and Louis will be back to jumping between drivers because no one can ever put up with his chatter for too long. 

“It’s okay,” Liam’s saying when Louis tunes back in to his current surroundings, where Zayn is still his driver and is wrapping up the fireworks show amidst much laughter and cheering. “If you don’t want to sign a release, I understand. I’ll make sure you’re not in any of the footage—”

“No!” If Zayn’s going to leave him for Liam and Niall, Louis wants at least the image of himself to follow him so Zayn can’t forget about him completely. “It’s fine, I’ll sign anything you want. I don’t mind.”

“Yes?” Liam’s earnest face breaks into a grin and he holds up a palm for Louis to high-five. “That’s great! Thank you, Louis. You look really good on camera and you’re always so entertaining. I’d love for you to feature in some of the video diaries I’m doing for Instagram and YouTube.”

Entertaining, yeah, that’s Louis. At least he brings some value to the table. “Harry’s taking pictures of me too, by the way,” he says as the pasta starts bubbling again. “I’m not sure why, but he wanted to. You can use the pictures however you want. If you want to.” 

“He is?”

Harry hasn’t shown him? “We have an agreement that he can take whatever he wants of me as long as he always has his sunscreen.”

“So that’s why he’s suddenly become so obsessed with it.” Liam laughs. “Harry’s never been the best at selfcare, too distracted by the myriad ideas and concepts whizzing around that brain of his and planning pictures and whatnot, but that was inspired. Thank you, Louis.”

“Just want my passengers to be safe.”

“Louis.” Liam turns serious. “I know you and Harry are—”

“Nothing. We’re not anything, Liam. I have a girlfriend.”

“Friends, I was going to say.”

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to—Harry hasn’t been happy the last few years. I know he’s struggling with his future, which is one of the reasons Niall and I keep inviting him to travel with us, trying to broaden his horizons before he commits himself irrevocably to something that might not suit him.”

“You don’t think law will suit him?”

Liam’s face does something complicated. “He wants it to. But you’ve met him, Louis.”

Louis has, and while he’s confused about why Harry would want to be a lawyer, if he does then he’ll dedicate himself to being the best lawyer he can be, Louis has no doubt. Harry’s intelligent, he thinks deeply about things, and the legal world sorely needs his empathy and integrity. “So, what, you think he should be a photographer instead? Or a songwriter?”

“He’s good at both of those.”

“I’m sure he’ll excel as a lawyer as well.” Harry must have his reasons for pursuing law. Maybe Louis should ask him about it sometime. “He doesn’t do things lightly.”

“Yeah.” Liam nods. “Which is why it’s great to see him so relaxed on this trip. He puts a lot of pressure on himself and this is good for him. You’re good for him.”

“I am?”

Liam glances towards the fire. With the fireworks finished, people are drifting towards the kitchen area in search of dinner. He leans forward, keeping his voice low. “Harry’s like my brother. We don’t always get on, but he’s the most precious person in the world to me outside of my immediate family. Please be gentle with him.”

Ah, that’s what Louis was waiting for. He’s glad Liam didn’t disappoint him. “I have no intention of causing any damage to Harry whatsoever,” he says. “Quite the opposite.”

“I know.” Liam checks over his shoulder to make sure Harry’s still chatting with Niall and Rolf. “He feels the same way about you.”

And what is Louis supposed to take that to mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was meant to be seeing Louis tonight in London. Obviously, I won't be. None of us will, in London or anywhere else for who knows how long. I'll be listening to his album on repeat, and I've decided that from now on I'm going to post a chapter every day, probably around this time (6pm UK time) since we're not getting the Louis shows we've dreamed about for so long. Lots of love to everybody reading this, and I hope it brings a little joy into your lives during these scary times.

**Day 10 – Harry**

**Spitzkoppe to Etosha National Park, Namibia**

It takes Harry a while to adjust back to sleeping on the ground after two nights in a comfy bed, but he’s sound asleep when his alarm goes at five. His dream splinters, forgotten in the midst of piercing noise, but he’s used to this routine by now and he hops out of his sleeping bag, automatically pulling on the shorts and t-shirt he laid aside for today before going to sleep. He drank too much water last night, after not having enough on the truck, so before he packs up and takes down his tent he decides to head over to one of the distant little outhouses.

“Oh my God.”

He hears Liam’s voice just as he unzips his own tent and gasps. When they arrived last night they could see the outline of mountains black against the stars, but in the dawning rays of daylight they’re spectacular. Yesterday Louis described the Spitzkoppe as _inselbergs_ , or island mountains, which they could tell from seeing them in the distance at sunset, unexpected mountains popping out of the flat desert plains. What wasn’t clear was that they’re mostly giant granite outcrops soaring over a thousand feet above the campsite. 

“That one over there,” Liam says, pointing to a peak that stands almost twice as high as the others, “is known as the Matterhorn of Namibia, according to the guidebook. This is where I want to come to learn rock climbing.”

Niall wriggles next to him so they can both see out their tent entrance. “Please tell me we get to explore a bit.”

“We were supposed to have the whole afternoon here yesterday,” Harry tells him. 

“That’s why breakfast is so early today,” Liam says, “so we can have a couple of hours to explore before we start the long drive north to Etosha. Although I don’t know if that’s still the plan.”

“Why?” Harry pulls his attention away from the grandeur above. “Because of the truck’s overheating?”

“Yeah. Zayn seemed really worried last night. Our whole drive today is through the desert in the heat and if it continues like yesterday, we’ll struggle to get there before the gates close at five-thirty. He said it’s normally only a morning’s drive, they usually get there in time for a late lunch, but if we have to keep stopping it could get dicey.”

Of all the challenges Harry had expected to encounter in Africa, this wasn’t one of them. “Louis said they once had to replace a truck in the Serengeti.”

“Zayn was considering asking them to drive another truck up from Cape Town.”

Niall whistles. “How long will that take?”

“Only about twenty-four hours if they drive nonstop up the main highway, so theoretically they can get it to us while we’re in Etosha. We just have to get there first.”

Niall wriggles the rest of the way out of the tent. He’s still in his boxers and shivers in the cold morning air. “I need to piss. See you guys.”

Harry shifts so he’s in a more comfortable position for his own bladder and eyes Liam. “Sounds like you and Zayn are getting on well, if he’s telling you stuff like that.”

“He’s cool. You were right to tell me to talk to him.”

“I thought he must be since Louis likes him so much. I think, you know, he only talked so much when we went to dinner because Louis made him feel comfortable. He always looked at Louis before he said anything, and I felt more like he was talking to Louis than to me. But it’s great that he’s good with you.”

“He’s great.” Liam looks across the tent to where Louis and Zayn are striking their tent. 

Zayn’s hair is perfectly in place as he moves with unhurried elegance to unhook the tent from the poles. Louis has his hedgehog look again as he darts around pulling up stakes and collecting poles as Zayn finishes them. He’s still wearing Harry’s hoodie.

Harry has no right to like that so much. He’s keeping Louis warm and that fills him with more satisfaction than he thought he was capable of feeling. 

“I talked to Louis last night,” Liam says as Louis and Zayn start rolling up their tent.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t tell me you’re taking pictures of him.”

The only person who’s seen those pictures is Louis. “A few. He’s very, like, photogenic. He told you?”

“Said that’s why you’ve suddenly become so conscious of your sunscreen.”

Harry feels his cheeks flush. It wasn’t a private bargain, but he’s not sure how comfortable he is with Liam knowing how badly he wants to take Louis’ picture. 

“He said he’d also sign the release, so that was good. That’s everyone but Michael and Jim.” Michael flat out refused and Jim demanded financial compensation for the use of his image. 

“I don’t think we’ll be that deprived,” Harry comments, thinking about the way Jim has been promoting his own products to everyone throughout the trip, “not including them.”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “I think we can manage. Hey.”

Harry tears his gaze away from where Louis’ bending over to stuff the tent into its bag. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing well with Louis, H.”

Liam hadn’t been too thrilled with the details of Harry’s big day out in Swakopmund with Louis, but Harry was aware of his observation every time he and Louis interacted yesterday and he knows there was nothing reprehensible. Except, maybe, giving Louis his hoodie, but Louis needed it and Harry is not going to regret grabbing his chance to take care of Louis in return for all the caretaking Louis has been doing of him so far on the trip. He hopes Louis keeps the hoodie all the way to Nairobi. Harry has others he can wear, and it’s clear Louis forgot his at home and doesn’t have the money to buy a spare. 

From what Harry’s picked up, overland guides don’t earn that much. 

Unlike lawyers. 

On that thought, he trudges off to the toilets. He should have brought his camera to capture the magnificence of the granite wonder around him but it holds strangely little pull without the lure of Louis to frame against it. It’s Harry’s day off duties today so maybe he can lurk around breakfast and see what he can sneak of Louis. 

Is it bad of him that he hopes Louis doesn’t take the hoodie off?

*

After breakfast (and the addition of a very restrained twenty-eight pictures to Harry’s camera roll), they pile into the truck and Zayn drives them around the back of the mountain range to an area called Bushman Paradise. Much to everyone’s disappointment, they can’t risk the amount of time it would take to clamber up the rock to the main cave with ancient bushman paintings, but Louis leads them to see a smaller selection of paintings on the underside of a rocky overhang. 

A chill runs through Harry at the sight. Thousands of years ago, people stood here creating these paintings. People like him, immortalising what they saw for others to see. Not that Harry expects his own photographs to last for even a century, let alone millennia, but he feels a warming kinship to these long dead humans. 

“We’re definitely coming back to this place,” Niall murmurs beside him. “I want to climb up to see the big cave. I want to explore everywhere here. The pictures you could take, H!”

Harry’s eyes instinctively flick over to where Louis is imparting background information on the history of the bushmen to Carlie, Yolanda and Hayley, whose faces mirror Niall’s with their awe. Louis looks matter-of-fact, but he’s been here a dozen times before. He might not be wealthy financially, but the abundance of the experiences he’s had in his five years in Africa set Harry’s last five years to shame. Louis knows so much, he overflows with knowledge and facts and details that he presents in highly entertaining fashion. Harry could spend the whole trip just listening to him talk. 

“Liam’s been itching to get him on video,” Niall says when he picks up where Harry’s attention has disappeared to. Sure enough, Liam’s surreptitiously filming Louis’ impromptu lecture. “I’m starting to feel quite superfluous on this trip, since both of you are clearly more interested in Louis.”

That shocks Harry. “Niall, no! You know that’s not true. Right? You don’t really think that, do you?”

“I’m joking,” Niall says, patting Harry on the arm. Then his mouth twitches. “Or am I?”

Harry turns around so his back is to Louis. “Niall, I won’t take any more pictures of him if you don’t want me to.”

Niall’s pats turn into an actual slap. “Don’t be silly, H. I love watching you so inspired again. And I’m always self-conscious when Liam wants to film me so I act like an idiot. I’d rather he use more of Louis and give me a break. You know I’m never good at the promotion stuff.”

“Are too,” Harry says loyally, but he knows it’s not Niall’s favourite part of his chosen career and that if it weren’t for Liam, Niall would probably remain comfortably playing at pubs and not push himself to take the scary next steps to a bigger future. “When everyone’s gone, I want you to go over there and pretend to be painting, yeah?” Niall’s a great photographic subject too, and Harry must make sure he doesn’t feel abandoned, especially since he’s the reason for Harry being here in the first place. 

*

After the excitement of the island mountains, the day turns into an endless grind. Beneath the burning sun in a cloudless sky, the truck is worse than yesterday and can only drive for thirty minutes before needing to cool down for the same amount of time. Danny turns out to have been a mechanic in his pre-policeman life and soon he’s hunched over the engine with Zayn, and shortly thereafter Carlie joins them with similar expertise. Thinking the problem is with the thermostat, they dismantle it completely, but it doesn’t help. 

The desert spreads out around them with scarcely a tree, just endless seas of golden grass and paler gold sand. From the second stop, the women take advantage of the sun, dragging mattresses out to spread them along the dusty road and strip down into hastily donned bikinis to suntan. Harry, Niall and Liam sit in the strip of shade offered by the truck and get in several hours of solid development work on songs. As Harry expected, Niall has a new song about life where you least expect it and it’s a blast to be writing it sitting on the sand of the desert itself. Liam starts writing one about endurance and seeing things through, which fits the day’s theme, and Harry scribbles down a variety of random shreds of lyrics, trying to figure out how to develop them into what he wants to say, before taking Niall’s guitar to work on music for something they came up with in Cape Town. 

There’s half an hour of entertainment when Zayn manages to time a scheduled cooldown stop with an outdoor crystal market that appears out of nowhere. Everyone purchases some semiprecious gems to be supportive to the local community. Harry picks a length of tiger’s eye because its gold and brown stripes remind him of Louis’ sun-streaked hair, then assuages his conscience by taking another family picture for the seller and her two little boys who play around the stall pretending to help her, carefully photographing the address she gives him so he can post this photo too. 

Standing beside another table catching up with the woman who seems in charge, Louis watches him and gives him a bright grin with his thumbs up. He’s no longer wearing the hoodie, the sun far too hot now, but Harry’s noticed it balled up on his seat in the truck. He hasn’t let it get far.

The thought does things to Harry’s stomach. 

It’s hard to stay away from Louis as the day progresses. He gives up when they finally find a village with a shop that’s open on Sunday afternoon and stop for lunch. It’s no more than a garage shop, but everyone rushes in to buy cold drinks and use proper toilets since the lack of bushes in the desert is causing quite a problem, while Zayn, Carlie and Danny stock up with another three hundred litres of water to keep the truck going. Since the cooking group today is the smaller one of Michael, Nicole and Duncan, Harry volunteers to help prepare the vegetables for their Mexican salad and for once Louis doesn’t shoo him away. 

He seems surprisingly relaxed, considering the situation they’re in, as he sets up the food stations beneath a giant acacia tree in the field opposite the garage. While the others are occupied, Harry inches closer so he can speak to Louis without them hearing. “Are we going to make the cut-off time in Etosha tonight?”

Louis looks up from the lettuce he’s washing. Harry can tell he’s about to wave it off, but then he checks that the others are busy with their chopping and drops his customary boisterous voice. “Frankly? No. Not at this rate.”

“So what will we do?”

Louis shrugs. “Try?”

“How far are we?” 

“Less than halfway.”

Harry looks at his watch. It’s after two. “Lou.”

“I’m gonna call them once everyone’s eating. There’s no cell reception out here but they have a phone in the shop that they said I could use.” Louis’ reassuring grin is not very convincing. “I know the guys at the security gate at Etosha, so hopefully I can persuade them to keep it open for another couple of hours for us. Zayn says it’ll get easier as we get further into the afternoon and the temperature starts to drop. We’ll be able to go faster, keep on the road a bit longer each time.”

“Liam told me Zayn said we might need to get a new truck?”

“He’s making some calls about that right now.” Realising Harry already knows how bad it is, Louis sighs and places his lettuce aside. “It’s not the best of situations but it’s not like we’re in Zambia or Malawi, where it would take a week to get a new truck to us. If two guys bring it and alternate driving, we could have it by the time we need to leave Etosha. It’s just if they have a spare truck available right now that’s roadworthy. If not, they’ll fly up a mechanic tomorrow with a lot of equipment and he’ll try to fix this one for us, but I’d rather not head further north when I don’t know how reliable she is.”

It’s a revelation seeing Louis like this, stress evident in the lines around his mouth and the clench of his jaw, his voice taut and hard. He’s been keeping up a good front of cheerful optimism all day, but he’s lowered it now, for Harry. “Why don’t you go call Etosha now?” Harry suggests, picking up the lettuce. “I know how this meal works so I can get it finished. You have more important things to worry about, Lou, so let me take care of this.”

Louis gives him a tired smile. “You’re going to spoil me for future trips, you know? I’m not going to know myself without my ever-present kitchen assistant.”

Harry doesn’t like to think of Louis doing this trip without him. The thought that he’ll be busy in London with his internship at a law office when Louis heads south again is unsettling and he reaches out to squeeze Louis’ tense shoulder. “Go call them. I’ll feed everyone.”

*

Louis succeeds in his negotiation with the gate security staff, not that Harry expected otherwise, and returns in the middle of lunch with the joyful news that they have an extra hour and a half, the cut-off time extended to seven. Zayn looks lighter with the news. Harry’s not sure he’s seen Zayn smile before this, but Zayn gives Louis a flashing grin and a thumbs up across the circle as everyone cheers. Even the locals, who have gathered with their deck chairs and stools at the edge of the shade of the acacia tree to watch these strange foreigners picnic in the middle of their village, join in the celebration. The strain drops from Louis’ mouth and he looks vibrant and happy again as he bounces around from group to group, eating his salad on the go. 

The salad Harry made. 

He likes feeding Louis. It gives him the same satisfaction as keeping Louis warm. 

He needs to be careful.

This isn’t normal.

Friends don’t revel in taking care of each other like this.

It’s okay, Harry rationalises to himself, on the road again for the next leg of their stop/start journey. As long as he doesn’t betray to Louis how he feels, it’s not wrong for him to feel like this. He feels how he feels, and repressing it hasn’t helped, so he might as well accept it. What he feels for Louis isn’t friendship, it’s a hell of a lot more, and at the end of the trip it’s going to hurt more than he can probably imagine right now to say goodbye to him, but that’s what will happen. He gets to share in Louis’ life for six incredible weeks, privileged enough to watch Louis in his natural African habitat and take pictures of him and laugh with him and share the occasional hug and lots of jokes, and he wouldn’t change any of that just because the odds of being left with a broken heart are horribly high. The important thing is that he doesn’t inflict any of his own emotion onto Louis. As long as he keeps his actions strictly platonic, then it’s fine for him to enjoy as much as he can get of Louis.

That’s the key.

It’ll be fine.

*

The rest of the afternoon is a race against time. As the sun lowers, the air cools and so does the truck, just as Louis said Zayn predicted. From five o’clock they’re driving more than they’re stopping, and Zayn is able to push the truck up to fifty kilometres an hour, which is a joke when they rumble past signs that warn of a hundred and twenty kilometre speed limit, but is a great improvement on their speed earlier in the day. 

Even so, the gates of Etosha are not yet in sight when Harry’s watch ticks over 7 o’clock.

“Shit, we haven’t made it.” 

“What do we do if we don’t?” Niall asks. “Camp out here in the middle of nowhere?”

It’s possible, obviously, but Harry has no idea if they’re allowed to. If it’s safe enough. Are all the dangerous animals contained within the boundaries of the national park? Are there others outside? 

Twenty more minutes pass before the flickering lights of the Etosha gates appear up ahead. Zayn pulls up at the closed gate and turns off the engine. Harry leans out the window to watch Louis hop down from the truck and approach the group of heavily armed guards. They glare at him, not impressed at all with his easy smiles, looking so stern and intimidating that Harry wants to leap out of the window so Louis doesn’t have to face them alone. But his smile doesn’t falter and he says only a few words before two of them grin. The other three don’t break, but Louis keeps talking—it doesn’t even sound like he’s speaking English, from what Harry can pick up through the window—and then suddenly the whole group bursts into laughter, Louis’ voice bright and clear above the rest. 

“That looks promising,” Liam comments.

With broad smiles and enthusiastic handshakes all round, Louis takes his leave of the guards and bounds back to the truck. He goes around the back and opens the main door, bouncing up the steps with a loud whoop. “They’re letting us in!” he yells. “Three cheers for the Etosha security guards!”

Harry joins in the cheer at the top of his voice as the security guards shake their heads at the irrepressible visitors they’ve just allowed into their park, and meets Louis’ dancing eyes. “Well done,” he mouths as the last cheer fades. 

Louis winks, then he’s gone to clamber back into the cab with Zayn as the gates slowly swing open in front of them.

Their allotted campsite is another hour of driving ahead of them through the massive park. It’s meant to take half an hour, Liam informs them, information gathered from Zayn during lunch, but since it’s dark Zayn has to drive extra slowly because of the risk of unseen animals on the road, which is the reason the gates close before sunset. Nobody minds how long it takes now that the threat of gate closure is past, and Niall involves everyone in a happy singalong to work out their bubbly adrenalin after the tense afternoon. 

Setting up tents in the dark, fourteen hours after taking them down at Spitzkoppe, Harry catches himself checking the position of the stars, most notably the sweeping question mark of Scorpius that Louis identified for him on their first night. Since then, it’s the first one he checks on whenever they arrive at a camp, following it up with the Southern Cross. Last night he spent a good two hours with Niall and Liam lying on mattresses they dragged from their tents, studying the star book Louis gave him to compare it to the magnificence above. The view looks like it’ll be just as good here tonight so he can test himself on some of the more obscure constellations he learned. 

It’s good to feel like the stars are becoming familiar, no longer the strangers of that first night in the vineyards. 

He and Louis were still strangers then as well. Funny how Louis never felt like a stranger. From the moment he interrupted Harry at the table in Cape Town, he’s felt familiar. It felt more like being reunited after an eternal separation than a first meeting of strangers—and now Harry’s being fanciful and he should go get his notebook and sit by the fire and pour all this silliness into lyrics. That might manage to keep him from offering to help Louis with tonight’s spaghetti bolognese. 

It works.

Even though Louis is wearing Harry’s blue hoodie again. 

Harry sits there watching him bustle around, letting words flow from his pen without censure. 

By the time he goes to bed, he has an entire song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	11. Chapter 11

**Day 11 - Louis**

**Etosha National Park, Namibia**

It’s a luxuriously late start to the day with no camp strike and breakfast not until seven-thirty. Louis’ so wiped out from the adrenalin of the day before that he puts his alarm on snooze five separate times before managing to drag himself from his snug sleeping bag at seven-twenty-five. Not acceptable, since he was planning to make pancakes for breakfast today with the extra time available. 

It turns out he didn’t need to worry, since his able cooking assistant has piles of pancakes all ready to go by the time Louis rolls up. Harry beams at him. “I remembered we planned pancakes for today, so I just went ahead. Is that all right?”

Louis wants to kiss him. “You’re a dream, mate.”

Harry blushes prettily and Louis wants to kiss him even more. “I figured you might be tired after yesterday. Is Zayn still sleeping?”

“He won’t surface for hours, probably not until the sun makes the tent too hot for him to sleep any longer.” Louis helps himself to a pancake and grins when Harry laughs at the way he tosses it between his fingers to keep from burning them. “He’s happy to have the day off today. Normally he’d have to drive you lot around for a full day of animal watching, but he made arrangements for two safari vehicles, which means he can rest.”

“What about you?”

“I get the day off too, since the vehicles come with local guides, as well as all-inclusive packed lunches.”

Harry grabs a small plate for Louis’ pancake and passes him the chocolate sauce, which they bought specifically for Louis but he’s sure plenty of other people will enjoy it too. Squirting chocolate all over the pancake, he sits down when Harry pushes him towards one of the camping chairs. “You enjoy your pancake,” Harry orders. “Let me flip these then I’ll get your tea.”

“You’ve come a long way, Hazza.” Should he feel such pride in someone he barely knows? “It wasn’t that long ago that I was the one providing you with breakfast and coffee.”

“The Association of Assistant Camp Cooks informed me that as your official assistant I am required to take better care of you.” 

“Is that right?” Louis leans back and stretches. “I could get used to this.”

“You should. You work so hard for everyone else all the time.” Harry places his tea on the table within Louis’ easy reach with a satisfied smile, but his voice is intense. “I’ve watched you, Louis, how you keep an eye on every person to make sure they’re okay and have everything they need, and if anything is wrong you jump to fix it or do what you can to make them feel better. Even people who never show you any gratitude or are rude.”

That’s his job, isn’t it?

“I don’t mean to sound creepy, but it’s so impressive to see. I keep sitting here admiring what you’re like and it makes me want to do the same for you.”

“Well, carry on then,” Louis says grandly, with a regal wave of his hand. “Far be it from me to stop you, my lad.”

“Good.” After ladling out fresh batter and piling the latest crop of pancakes on top of the others, Harry rests a hip on the table and regards Louis with intent. “You’re not cooking today. It’s my day, and I and Rolf, Rachel and Carlie will take care of everything. I checked our menu, it’s sausage and mash tonight, which I can figure out well enough how to make on here, and you will sleep or go up to the bar or watch the animals at the waterhole or find wherever your friends are at this location and hang out with them and not give us a single thought all day.”

It sounds like heaven. “Harry, I can’t do that.” 

“Tough.” Harry looks anything but tough, standing there in a rumpled rainbow hoodie with curls tumbling around his face, unconstrained by any headscarf, but his eyes say he means business. “If anything happens, of course I’ll come get you, but you gave up your proper day off in Swakop to show me all over town, so let me give you today instead.”

Louis doesn’t want to argue, not when he’d rather applaud Harry’s determination. “Okay,” he concedes. Maybe by tonight Harry will have forgotten his decree. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry’s little triumphant smile is worth any amount of concessions. He turns back to flip his pancakes and then refills Louis’ empty plate. “Don’t move. I’ll keep you supplied with pancakes and tea. After all, we here at the Southern Skies breakfast catering, assistant department, like to offer a full-service experience—wasn’t that what you said to me?”

Oh God, Harry’s impersonation of Louis is perfect, American accent and all, and Louis doubles up with laughter as his passengers start showing up for breakfast. None of them blink an eye at the sight of Harry taking charge while Louis lazes off to the side, stuffing himself with pancakes until he feels sick because he loves the way Harry swoops in with more each time before he finishes his final bite. He also gets through three cups of tea, and, fuck, does Harry know how to make tea the way he likes it. 

Once everyone’s nearly finished, Louis heaves himself to his feet to get their attention so he can outline the plan for the day. They’ll be gone for a blessed seven hours and he can’t wait to see the back of them.

But once they’re gone, it feels like they took all his energy with them. He potters around a bit, cleaning up the remnants of breakfast, then considers going down to the swimming pool but it’s no fun by himself. Back in their tent, Zayn is still snoring. He looks peaceful and happy and the closest to home that Louis has out here, so he strips down to his underwear and crawls back into the tent despite the growing heat.

*

He wakes up five hours later. Zayn’s sleeping bag is empty, no doubt he’s gone to paint somewhere, and Louis is dripping with sweat since the tent feels like a sauna, but he feels more revived than he has since leaving Cape Town. Amazing what some proper rest can do for you.

To cool off, he jumps in the pool. He’s seen Harry swimming proper laps but Louis gets bored with those so he paddles around to enjoy the water and chats to some teenage girls who eye him up with interest. It’s fun to flirt when everyone knows it’s not going anywhere, but when one of them starts hinting towards taking him back to her tent, he slips away. 

The girl reminded him of Michelle with her Capetonian accent and fluffy blonde hair and casual confidence. Maybe he should give her a call—no, it’s Monday afternoon so she’s in the office. Thinking about her makes his stomach hurt, so he goes in search of Zayn. He’s not in any of the usual places, but Anton at the bar says he thinks he saw him down by the waterhole. That sounds as good a place as any to while away the rest of the afternoon, so Louis spends money he shouldn’t on a six pack and makes his way through the camp in that direction. 

“Thought I’d lost you,” he says.

Zayn’s set up the easel he keeps at Etosha and has accomplished a lot while Louis slept the day away, given that Louis remembers him finishing a painting last time they were here. “The replacement truck will be here tomorrow morning,” he says over his shoulder. “Patrick said they’ll meet us at the cheetah place, give everyone something to look at while we change over.”

Louis drags a comfortable bench nearer to Zayn. “Will Shamwari get us there?”

“Should do. We send them off for their predawn game drive with the other vehicles again, then leave straight after breakfast while it’s still cool. It isn’t far.”

“Great.” 

If only all problems in life could be fixed this easily. Louis hands Zayn one of the beers then settles back with his own, kicking his feet up onto the stone wall in front of him. Midafternoon isn’t the best time for waterhole game viewing and all the rain means even fewer animals will need to come here, but a herd of zebra are drinking on the far side interspersed with a variety of buck, and a couple of elephants laze beneath a tree. Not bad at all. 

He gets to the end of his beer, drawing it out as the elephants lumber away and are replaced by some energetic impalas before he lets himself speak. “Zayn?”

“Mm.”

He knows Zayn hates being bothered when he’s painting but he needs to know and yesterday with all the stress wasn’t the right time to ask. “Are we friends?”

“What the fuck?” Zayn turns around to stare at him. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” He shouldn’t be drinking at all because technically he’s on duty, but Harry gave him the day off so he’s taking it. “Do you consider me your friend?”

“’Course I do. Don’t be daft.”

“Am I an okay friend?”

“Louis, what are you drinking?”

“Same as you.” Handing Zayn a second Castle lager, he opens another for himself. “But am I?” He takes a deep swallow. “Or am I really shit and you’re trying not to tell me?”

“You’re pretty shit right now. What is this, a relationship talk?”

“It’s a friendship talk.” Maybe he should have bought something stronger than beer. “It’s okay, you can tell me if I’ve been a rubbish friend. I can’t be better if I don’t know. Am I?”

“You’re the best friend I ever had, you fuckhead. What’s brought this on?”

That’s still not saying much. Maybe Zayn never had good friends before so he didn’t realise how useless Louis was because he had nothing to compare him to. “You know Liam?”

“Liam, Harry’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

“You crushing on him too now?”

“’m not crushing on anyone,” Louis protests. “Harry and I are just friends.”

“So why don’t you go ask him what kind of friend you are?”

“Because you’ve known me for longer and I trust you to be honest with me.”

“Fuck.”

Louis pounces. “So I _am_ a bad friend!”

“No, fuck because I spilled beer in my paint. But also fuck because what the hell is going on?”

“You showed Liam your sketchbook.”

“Because he showed me his.”

“Liam sketches?”

“Pretty well. He hasn’t had formal classes, but he’s teaching himself and wanted to know how I use perspective when I draw the desert.” 

“You never showed it to me.”

“You never asked. Did you want to see it? It’s right here.”

Louis sets his beer on the ground and picks up the sketchbook. He always assumed that what was in here was private since Zayn never offered to share it. Has Zayn been waiting for him to show an interest all these years, and figured that Louis couldn’t be bothered? He loves Zayn’s art. One day when he has a house, he wants it decorated with nothing but art by Zayn. 

“You sketch people?”

“Mmm.” Zayn’s returned to his painting, one paintbrush balanced between his teeth while he uses another.

How did Louis not know this? “You never paint them so I didn’t realise. I thought you just liked nature.”

Zayn puts the second brush down and retrieves the first. “People are part of nature.”

“You’re really good.”

“Thanks, Louis.” The sarcasm is cutting.

“I mean it. I’m sorry I never asked before.”

“It’s okay.”

No, it’s not. Louis is doing way too much assuming in his life, it seems. But before he can apologise again, he comes across a drawing of him and Harry together. It’s from the night in Swakop when they went out for dinner and Zayn must have drawn it from memory because Louis doesn’t remember him pulling out his sketchbook in the restaurant. Louis’ head is thrown back with laughter while Harry leans his elbow on the table gazing at him with rapturous eyes, as though Louis is the best thing he’s seen in his life. As though Louis is his world. 

Zayn glances over, since Louis stopped talking. “He looks at you like that all the time.”

Louis didn’t know. He’s been so afraid of being the one looking like that at Harry that he’s afraid to ever look for very long. 

“They’re good guys, Harry’s lot.”

“Harry gave me Niall’s music in Swakop. When we get the new truck, we need to listen to it.”

“Sure,” Zayn says agreeably.

Louis rips himself away from the drawing of himself and Harry and closes the sketchbook, afraid of what else he might find. Zayn might have drawn him, for example, gazing back at Harry, and he’s not brave enough to see what might be on his face. 

He hugs his arms around his legs, sitting sideways on the bench so he can watch Zayn paint. It’s soothing, peaceful, the warm afternoon lulling him back into a doze despite all his sleeping. Unhappy thoughts clamour on the outskirts of his brain but he ignores them. He doesn’t feel stable enough to let them in.

One thought makes its way in anyway. 

Michelle.

He needs to have a talk with her like he just had with Zayn, acknowledge his deficiencies and check how she’s feeling about their relationship. 

It’s a horrifying thought.

It won’t go well, he’s positive. He’s been failing as a boyfriend for all these years, just as he failed as a son and failed as a brother. 

He grabs for his third beer, downs half of it in a single swallow so there’s a reason for tears to prick at his eyes and his throat to burn. 

He can’t go there. Not right now. Not while he’s feeling like this. 

Back to Michelle. 

She’ll be twenty-seven soon. Her birthday will be their sixth anniversary together. He needs to do something special for it. Granted, he’ll be half a continent away on the actual date—but wait, maybe he can fly her up to wherever he is. He calculates quickly. Zanzibar, excellent. The date falls during his return trip to Zanzibar on the way south. Michelle’s never been there and what a beautiful place to celebrate. Horribly far, so the flight will cost a fortune, but what’s a credit card for if not to save his relationship? 

He knows she wants to get married. She dropped enough hints a while ago, although she’s stopped doing that recently, probably because he was too blatantly against the idea. To him, they’re too young but women in South Africa tend to get married young and settle down and start having babies. God knows most of her friends in Cape Town have, which he thinks is crazy, but how must it make Michelle feel? Even Lauren is married, having quit tour leading at 25 to marry the guy who manages Elephant Sands, one of Louis’ favourite stops in Botswana. 

Much as it makes him panic, that might fix things. Zanzibar is a wonderful place for a proposal, and how romantic is it to get engaged on your birthday and anniversary? That would appeal to Michelle. They don’t have to get married immediately, she’d probably want a year, at least, to plan the wedding of her dreams. Maybe a year from now he’ll feel more capable of becoming a husband. 

What if he’s as bad a husband as he is everything else?

There will be babies too.

He’ll be a father—

No. 

She can’t expect him to be responsible for children. Not after what he did. What he’s doing every single day that he remains in Africa. 

There’s internet here at the camp and he can’t stop himself from pulling out his phone, opening up Instagram, typing in the first of the usernames he knows all too well.

He’s managed not to do this for almost a year, damn it, but here he is.

Amy’s teaching now, it seems. There are pictures of a primary school, of a classroom. He’d wondered what she had planned after her degree. There’s a nativity play, which she seems to have put on. She really took over his abandoned career plan, didn’t she? Her life’s full of friends and social events like it always was, and she looks happy, healthy. Not like she misses him in the slightest.

Jess is no longer a little girl, but an unexpectedly sleek, elegant teenager now, who seems to have a great love for makeup and fashion and filters. A boy appears in many of her recent pictures, sandy-haired, always laughing. He’ll be good for her, keep her from being too serious and withdrawn. Is he her first boyfriend? Has she had many? Louis should know these things.

The twins are teenagers too, in their second year of secondary school. His stepmother’s account features Robbie at football practices and games, him and his friends in muddy kits, beaming, arms slung around each other. Louis remembers that life, and he’s glad Robbie’s following in his footsteps. Maybe he has the extra drop of talent Louis lacked to potentially make it in the big leagues. Louis should be there to help him train. Matty, it seems, hasn’t lost his passion for chemistry and experiments. He won an award just before Christmas for it, and Louis missed the ceremony. Matty looks so proud of himself. The twins are still identical, still style their hair the same. Louis hopes they’ve remained close, the way they were as toddlers when everyone else was banished from their insular twin world. 

Louis was like that with Amy once. She didn’t talk until they were four, and later explained she didn’t feel the need to because Louis could speak for her. She used to trust him for everything. Long ago. Before he proved himself so untrustworthy.

Baby Trixie’s almost eleven now. She’s a tomboy, also plays football, although there’s a photo of her looking prim at a recent piano recital, and in a family Christmas picture, she’s almost as tall as Amy. His precious baby girl. She was barely five when he left. Does she even remember him?

She might not.

Probably for the best, that.

And the others all seem fine without him, so maybe what he did wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was such a shit brother when he was there that his desertion was a relief. No more having to worry about messy, loud, disruptive Louis who yelled and shouted at grief-stricken children for not warning him that his mother was dying—

“Lou.”

No. Please go away. Don’t let Harry see him like this.

“Louis?”

He blinks frantically, then gives up and scrubs his fists across his eyes. “Thought I was off duty,” he says, voice treacherously wobbly, without turning around.

“No, you are.” He feels Harry come closer, stopping just behind him, thank God, so he can’t see Louis’ face. “I just—I brought you something, but it’s fine, I can go away again.”

“Wait.” Louis slips his phone into his pocket. He might be rubbish at family, but this is his job and he knows how to be Louis-the-tour-leader. He’s good at that, at least. Forcing a smile onto his face, he lowers his feet to the ground and swivels around. “Hey, Haz. How was your safari?”

Harry knows he was crying, looks close to crying himself—of course Harry would be a sympathy crier—but he swallows hard and manages an equally fake smile. “It was good, thank you. I took pictures for you of the most special things we saw. Like an elephant bathing in mud, using its trunk like a shower, and the zebra traffic jam we got caught in—Niall called it a zebra crossing, because they were all crossing the road so we had to stop and wait.”

“Clever.” 

“Yeah, he thought so. I got a great picture of him with a zebra right next to him. They seem to be his favourites.” Harry’s smile turns more real. “I brought you my camera so you can take a look, if you like.” 

“Thank you, Harry, I would like, very much.”

Harry holds it out. “Everyone’s in the pool now. It’s really nice. Did you go?”

“Yeah, I went back to bed after you left and when I woke up I went for a swim.”

“I’m glad you got more sleep.”

“Yeah, even more than Zayn.” Speaking of, both Zayn and easel have vanished. “Did you see him anywhere?”

“He’s the one who told me you were here. He also sent me with another six pack for you, but I added some salt and vinegar crisps in case you were hungry. It’s still a while until dinner.”

Sure enough, Harry hands over a bag with more Castles and a family size packet of crisps. There’s nothing Louis feels that could be more comforting right now. 

“There’s also a bottle of water in there because beer is dehydrating. And why are you sitting here without your cap? You’ve got sunburned, Louis. Here.” Harry pulls out his now ever-present sunscreen from his pocket and tugs off his colourful cap. 

Louis takes the sunscreen even though it’s late afternoon. He knows he was burning. He just couldn’t make himself care. “You need the cap, Haz.”

“Yours is still in the truck, right? I’ll ask Zayn to get it for me. Please take mine, Lou.”

How can he resist when Harry asks so prettily? After slathering warm lotion over his burnt face, he accepts the cap that’s been constraining Harry’s curls all day. They’re damp and limp beneath it and Louis wants to ruffle his fingers through them to bring them back to life. “Are you gonna take a swim too?”

“Yeah. The safari vehicle wasn’t that comfortable so I need to stretch out my back a bit.”

Oh no, Harry’s hurting. “I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m used to it. I should be doing more stretching than I am. I’ve been trying to do yoga every evening with Rolf and Annette but the last few days we got out of the routine, and then sitting at that awkward angle all day today—well, swimming will help.”

“I’m glad. Do you have problems with your back?”

“Sometimes.” Harry motions to the camera. “Do you know how to use the playback on that?”

It looks familiar, like some of the other fancy cameras various passengers have shown him. “I think so. Do you want to back up your pictures first, just in case I accidentally delete all your hard work?”

“I took pictures today for you, Lou.” There’s Harry’s real smile, warm and brilliant like the sun. “Since you weren’t with us. I didn’t want you to miss out on anything special.”

“You’re a very nice boy, Harry Styles.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “You’re a very nice boy too, Louis Tomlinson.”

“I’m a man, thank you very much.” Louis straightens his shoulders and tries to look manly.

Harry giggles. “You’re a very nice man, too.”

The appreciation in his voice soothes the raw edges of Louis’ earlier meltdown. Harry likes him. Whatever Louis’ other shortcomings in life, Harry likes him. “Thanks for the provisions, Haz. And for today.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m very well rested now, so if you’d rather spend the rest of the afternoon in the pool I don’t mind going back to make dinner.”

Curls bounce with the violence of Harry’s head shake. “No! You stay right here and enjoy the animals and your beer and crisps. Look, there’s a giraffe. It’s bending down to drink, just like in pictures, with its legs splayed out. Look, Louis!

It’s a sight Louis has seen often, but he obligingly turns to look. “I love giraffes,” he murmurs. 

“Because they’re so tall?” Harry asks.

“What?”

“The opposite of you.”

“Hey!” He play slaps at Harry’s arm and Harry grins.

“Sorry, Lou, but you’re tiny.”

“Am not. Take that back!”

Harry grabs his wrist. “You are!”

Putting down the bag Harry brought him, Louis slaps at Harry with his free hand, only to find that captured as well. 

“Now you’re trapped,” Harry giggles. 

“I still have two legs,” Louis warns darkly.

“I have very big hands. See?” Casually, Harry wraps his left hand around both of Louis’ wrists and then bends down to grab both his ankles with his right, twisting Louis so he’s lying sideways on the bench. “Now what?”

“Let me go!”

“Nope. Not until you say I’m right.”

Louis struggles, but Harry’s grip is firm. He looks relaxed, not even trying. It should be humiliating, and Louis wonders just how hard he’d have to fight to force Harry to let go. “You’re a menace.”

“Not such a nice boy after all?”

“Evil boy.” He’s missed this kind of roughhousing with friends, even if he’s still on the losing side, just as he always was as a kid. “See, you have a deficiency, Harry. You only have two hands. So you can control my arms and my legs, but I still have a mouth.” His mouth’s always been his greatest weapon and he’s about to start shrieking when Harry’s eyes flicker down to his mouth. 

And Harry licks his lips.

Shit. Louis forgot that Harry has a mouth too. And Harry is gay, so obviously there’s a very easy way that would occur to him to shut Louis up, something that Louis and his friends growing up would never have dreamed of. 

“I’m tiny,” he says hurriedly. “You’re right.” He feels minuscule right now beneath Harry, hating himself for wanting what’s clearly on Harry’s mind. 

Harry instantly lets him go. “Of course I’m right,” he says unsteadily. He stands up again, pats down his clothes as if they became jumbled by the altercation. “I’d better go and swim now, before the sun gets too low and it’s cold again.”

“Yeah.” Louis sets his twisted t-shirt right. “You sure about dinner? This is your last chance before I laze the evening away.”

“’m sure. Even if you come back, I won’t let you in the kitchen.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it? One victorious brawl and you think you’re the victor of everything?”

“I am the victor of everything.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. 

“I’m the victor of you,” Harry amends, and oh shit, that’s even worse. He realises it too and blushes before he quickly turns away. “See you later, Louis.”

*

Louis isn’t usually one for sitting and doing nothing, but he does exactly that as the sun sinks towards the horizon and animals come and go from the waterhole. He switches to water after only one more beer and munches his way through the crisps. They’re his favourites and he’s denied himself for so long and he wants to cry because they taste so good. 

Yeah, far better to be crying over potato crisps than over what a failure of a human being he is. 

A couple of hours later, Zayn shows up. Wordlessly he dumps Harry’s hoodie onto Louis’ lap then holds out a plate before sitting down beside him and reaching for one of the beers. 

Because Louis’ cold, he pulls on the hoodie without comment before investigating the plate. It holds a roll with two perfectly seared sausages inside. 

“From Harry,” Zayn says. “Said you needed some protein.”

Louis probably does, since all he ate today was pancakes and crisps. The sausages are still hot and Harry squirted tomato sauce over them and they taste delicious in their soft bread roll. Where did Harry even get rolls like this?

“I’m going to propose to Michelle,” he says a few bites in. 

Zayn keeps gazing out at the animals surrounding the now floodlit waterhole. “You sure?” he asks after a pause. 

Louis takes another bite before saying decisively, “Yes. It’s our anniversary and her birthday when we’re in Zanzibar on the return journey. I might fly her up.”

“Romantic.”

“I thought so.” He finishes the last of Harry’s roll. “I’ll do it then. Do it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 12 – Harry**

**Etosha National Park to Windhoek, Namibia**

Louis looks much better, Harry thinks, when he emerges from his tent to wave them off on their pre-breakfast game drive. He comes over to Harry, bright and warm and wearing Harry’s hoodie again. 

“Morning, everyone! Here.” He holds out the camera Harry left with him last night. “You’ll need this today. I enjoyed the pictures, and the little video of the elephant washing itself was very cute. Thanks for sharing.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re likely to see even more on this drive. It’s a lot shorter but it’s not the middle of the day.”

Harry loves animals but they’re not his greatest excitement about this trip. He’d rather stay and help Louis cook breakfast, but he took too many liberties yesterday and this morning Louis has reverted to cheery tour leader, a distance that’s probably necessary. At least he looks like himself again, eyes sparkling, mouth twitching in a perpetual smile. Harry couldn’t bear seeing him cry yesterday. 

“Did you see the jackals in the camp when you came back last night?” he asks instead. 

“Yeah, they’re a real menace around the bins.”

“Zayn showed me how to wrap everything securely.” Zayn’s been a lot more friendly than Harry anticipated. He showed up to assist with dinner, making sure Harry knew where to find everything, and even got quite chatty with Carlie and Rachel. Harry’s pretty sure Zayn’s gay so they were wasting their time flirting, but it made for a fun dinner preparation. He didn’t question Harry’s authority in taking over the cooking, so obviously Louis had mentioned it to him, but Harry suspects he was only there on Louis’ behalf, to be the person responsible so Louis could deal with whatever was going on with him last night. 

Harry likes Zayn. 

He liked him even more when he saw him retrieve Harry’s hoodie from their tent to take to Louis along with Harry’s dinner delivery. Louis might not be Harry’s to comfort, but at least Harry could keep him warm and fed. 

“Have a wonderful game drive, everyone!” Louis calls, sweeping Hayley and Rachel in for good morning hugs, adding Yolanda and Nathan when they hold their arms out as well. Rose comes over to give Louis a pat on the back and Duncan knocks his—Harry’s—cap askew. It’s only then that Harry realises he’s wearing Louis’ cap again without even thinking.

“Keep it,” Louis mouths over his armful of passengers when he sees Harry’s hand fly to the cap. 

Harry nods. 

Louis taps the end of his bright pink nose and raises his eyebrows.

Harry holds up the tube of sunscreen.

Louis gives him a thumbs up.

They don’t even need words to communicate anymore. 

It hurt yesterday to come upon Louis in tears and fiercely fighting not to be. Harry hopes it’s not something with Michelle. Even more, he hopes it’s not because of him. Maybe it’s egotistical to think that, but he hasn’t imagined Louis’ reaction to him on more than one occasion. If Louis believed he was straight before this, he could be having a sexuality crisis. If he knew he was also attracted to men, then possibly his response to Harry is indicative of bigger problems with Michelle, or it’s led to him feeling guilty, possibly confessing to her, or trying to hide it. 

Harry doesn’t want to be responsible for any unhappiness in Louis’ life, but he has no right to ask. All he can do is be there if Louis ever decides he wants to talk and otherwise ensure that he does nothing to cross the boundary between tour leader and passenger—well, it may be too late for that, especially after yesterday. 

Friends. 

Louis does seem to be okay with Harry being his friend, so that’s what Harry will continue to be. 

*

Louis cooks up a storm for breakfast in their absence, sparking an argument about whether what he’s produced is called eggy bread or French toast or something else altogether. Rachel and Nicole seem deeply suspicious of it and Louis laughs at their reaction, insisting they try it anyway. Whatever was troubling him has been firmly put aside and he’s light and happy, running around to check out everyone’s pictures from the successful morning game drive on their cameras and to catch up on all he missed yesterday. 

When they reach the cheetah reserve, the big work of switching trucks begins. Two men called Patrick and Sabelo have driven their new truck—called Rafiki, the Swahili word for _friend—_ up overnight from Cape Town. Louis bounds out to greet them with hugs and laughter. Harry lingers at the back of the group when the farmer leads them off to meet the cheetahs so he can see what Louis is like with his colleagues. 

Patrick produces a large container. “From your lady,” he says, presenting it to Louis. 

“Yeah?” Louis immediately opens it to look inside and crows with glee, pulling something out to stuff in his mouth. 

“She said to say it’s an apology for Thursday.”

Thursday was their first day in Swakopmund, when Harry went sandboarding and he assumed Louis caught up with Michelle. Did they have a fight? Over Harry?

He feels sick. Is that why Louis was so weird with Harry the next day, even while he took him all over town?

It’s none of his business, he reminds himself when Louis looks up, still chewing, and catches his eye. Whatever’s happening in Louis’ relationship has nothing to do with Harry.

Turning his back on Louis, he rushes to catch up with the others to meet the cheetahs.

*

Rafiki has a similar seat design to Shamwari, and everyone happily resumes the same seating pattern, other than the fact that Marya’s now sharing with Jim and Nathan has moved forward to take Jim’s previous seat near the front across from Rose, which is a relief for Harry because Nathan kept trying to flirt with him and distract him from trying to write. Harry, Liam and Niall reclaim their table at the back. Today's drive is dull with none of the drama of two days earlier, a five-hour journey with only an interruption for Mexican salad beneath an acacia tree. There's none of the flooding that was evident in the south and west of the country, just very dry desert that gradually turns into dusty hills that Zayn winds around to enter the first proper city they’ve seen since Cape Town. 

Louis pops through from the cab. “Afternoon, everyone, and welcome to Windhoek, which means windy corner. It’s the capital city of Namibia, and includes a fountain displaying large chunks of the Gibeon meteorite that crashed into Namibia in prehistoric times.” He grins. “Fun fact for the day, and well worth a visit. Unfortunately this is not the safest city in the world, so we advise you not to walk around alone or to walk anywhere after dark. We’re staying in a hostel here and taxis are cheap into town where you’ll find a variety of restaurants for dinner, or you can order in. Our hosts will provide a full spread of takeout menus.”

“What are you doing, Louis?” Carlie calls. 

“Ordering pizza and facetiming my girlfriend to say thank you for the treats she sent me with the replacement truck!”

“It’s all right for some,” Nathan grumbles. 

Louis grins at him. “Sometimes us straight boys get lucky.”

 _Straight boys._

Okay. 

Good to know. 

Glad Louis cleared that up. 

He’s straight.

Maybe Harry did imagine those moments of sexual awareness between them. 

Louis’ eyes dart across his then he’s laughing again, recommending several restaurants in town for different choices. There’s a great steakhouse, excellent Thai, several pizza places, the best Indian Louis says he’s ever had. By the time he’s finished listing them all and interested parties have scribbled down their names, Zayn has brought Rafiki to a halt on the road across from a red-roofed low building presided over by an enormous flamboyant tree.

“Shit, we’re here already.” Louis ducks his head to look out the window. “We have several rooms available to us here, one big room with bunkbeds for ten, then some smaller ones. Anyone who wants a smaller room, let me know. Liam, do you guys want one so you can work on music?”

Liam flashes one of his appealing smiles around to the others. “Only if everyone’s okay with it.”

“Everyone?” Louis looks so expectant that if anyone wants to object, they don’t have the heart, and Louis grins delightedly. “That’s sorted. There’s also two doubles, and a single. Michael and Vicky, Rolf and Annette, the doubles?”

“Good thinking, Louis,” Michael confirms.

Annette looks doubtfully around. “Do the others not mind?”

Again, no one speaks up.

“Great,” Louis beams. “As for the single, Rose?”

She also looks around first. “That would be lovely.”

“Excellent, all sorted.” Louis rubs his hands together then claps them loudly. “Right, enjoy the rest of your afternoon and evening in the capital of Namibia, everybody!”

He doesn’t look at Harry again.

*

Staying in their room to write seems the logical choice, making the most use of electricity while they have it. Liam goes to reception to phone for three large pizzas so they have fuel for a good long session, while Harry and Niall set up in the room. 

“I heard what Louis said.” Niall’s voice is gentle as he makes himself comfortable on one of the beds with his guitar. 

Harry’d been hoping no one would mention it. “It makes no difference,” he says, busying himself with his laptop. The protective case he bought has held up well against the desert sand, and he’s proud of it. Pretty pleased with the salesman, as well, who promised him it would. 

“Harry.”

“Everything I have to say is in my lyrics.” It makes him think of Zayn’s paintings and Louis’ outrage. Harry gets Zayn. Sometimes that’s the only way to say the things that matter, through art. The things that hurt too much to talk about in spoken words. 

Louis clearly doesn’t have an outlet like that. 

No, Louis’ sole outlet _is_ the spoken word. Hopefully Louis spoke to Zayn last night about his distress, or maybe in the truck today he let it out and that’s why he seems better tonight. 

Whatever. It’s none of Harry’s business. 

Louis is none of Harry’s business. 

Louis made that crystal clear just now.

*

It’s only when he’s preparing for bed that Harry realises he didn’t take a single photograph all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	13. Chapter 13

**Day 13 - Louis**

**Windhoek, Namibia to Ghanzi, Botswana**

He lied.

He panicked and lied to Harry and then panicked more and lied to Michelle and altogether Louis is feeling like shit as he packs up his stuff for today’s journey into Botswana. 

He isn’t straight, that much is clear. He already knew that, but he’s been able to ignore it for so long that he’d almost forgotten the truth until Harry blasted into his life and wrecked everything. But he lied, straight to Harry’s face, and watched that gorgeously expressive face turn to rigid stone. 

Harry knows the truth, Louis’ given himself away too many times for that not to be the case, which means he knows Louis lied deliberately. 

And that the lie was aimed at him. 

And then, because Louis was in such a state over it and fighting his need to go to Harry and apologise and explain and, somehow, try to make things okay again, when he called Michelle to thank her for the koeksisters she sent for him, the syrup-drenched braided donuts that he adores, it all went to pieces and they ended up fighting over nothing. 

He knows she sent the koeksisters as a peace offering after their fight last Thursday. Normally she tells him off for eating unhealthy treats, her investment in his state of health a lot higher than his own, for which he should be grateful, so the fact that she went so far as to make them herself and sent them to him with words of apology—he doesn’t deserve someone like her. 

He’ll have internet again in Maun this weekend and he can have another go at trying to fix things. Harry will be safely deep in the Okavango and Louis can pull himself together and stop obsessing over his siblings and the life he left behind and deal with the one he has here and now. He can sound Michelle out about joining him in Zanzibar in March and have everything sorted by the time the tour continues on Sunday.

Yes.

Good plan.

Great plan.

Why the fuck won’t his head stop hurting then? 

He avoids breakfast in the hostel, which thankfully isn’t his problem this morning, and slinks into the truck cab before anyone comes outside, busying himself with paperwork in case anyone wanders over to talk. There’ll be a Spar stop for toilets and snacks halfway to the border, he can hold out until then. 

“Brought you tea,” Zayn says, arriving to get the truck’s engine warmed up. He holds out a steaming flask. “FYI, Harry made it. He wouldn’t let me, said I wouldn’t do it right.”

Louis drops his head onto the back of his seat and closes his eyes. He’s still wearing Harry’s hoodie and Harry’s making him his morning tea and Louis has to put a stop to all of this. It isn’t friendship. 

It isn’t.

And unless he steels himself to break up with Michelle, he can’t let it keep happening.

Harry looks hesitant when he emerges, pale beneath his developing suntan and fading bruise, with wary eyes and cautious movements. He meets Louis’ eyes and gives a little wave and smaller smile. 

Louis did that. 

Yet Harry still made him tea.

*

In comparison to the Namib, the famous Kalahari is only a semi-desert, a fact which greatly disappointed Louis on his first trip north. The Kalahari scenery east of Windhoek on the way to Botswana is endless flat grasslands scattered with scrubby bushes, which, to be fair, characterises the majority of Botswana. It’s boring and repetitive, and Louis is hungry and irritable. He and Harry still haven’t swapped back their caps, so Louis fiddles with Harry’s Namibian flag cap and strips off the blue hoodie with the vow to wash it in Maun and return both it and the cap to their rightful owner.

When they pause at the Spar, he storms in ahead of everyone else after announcing a twenty-minute stop and grabs crisps and chocolates and several Crème Sodas, the combination of which leaves him nauseous by the time they reach the Trans Kalahari border post into Botswana. It’s not an easy border to negotiate, takes about two hours on a good day, which it isn’t today. His subdued passengers, wilting from the heat, pliantly follow his lead then slump on cement benches beneath a shady roof to wait for Zayn to get the truck through customs. Louis would normally join them, but instead he tags along with Zayn to help smooth over several disputes. 

Excellent. Chalk one success up to Louis for the day.

It’s not so easy during their quick stop at the side of the road for a light salad lunch. Harry’s on truck cleaning today, and Louis notices him hovering around the edge of the group watching Danny, Rose and Nathan help chop up vegetables. It’s clear he’s itching to join in, but despite his dictatorial attitude at Etosha, today he hangs back, unsure of his welcome. 

Louis is unsure of his welcome too. 

“Harry’s not helping today?” Danny asks, scraping his chopped tomato into the bowl. 

Jesus, Louis hasn’t even thought about what he and Harry must look like to everybody else. He worried about appearances when emerging from the same bathroom in the dark, but what about the rest of it? They can’t miss that he’s wearing Harry’s hoodie from earlier in the tour, or the way they wear each other’s caps or the regularity of Harry’s presence in Louis’ kitchen. 

“He’s been learning how to cook for large groups from me.” That’s true, for what it’s worth. “Guess he’s mastered my Mexican salad dish.”

“It’s a good dish,” Rose says, dumping in her tins of sweetcorn. “I will have it when I go home.”

“As long as you promise to think of me, Rose.”

“I will, you lovely boy.” 

She pats his arm and Louis finds a genuine warm smile inside him to give to her. She’s a very dear lady and he’s loving having her on his trip. 

“Do I get to call you lovely boy too?” 

While Nathan’s flirting was more aggressive at the start of the trip, it feels more casual and friendly now, enough for Louis to be able to respond, “Only if you’re planning to keep up the tradition of lunchtime salads when you get back to Johannesburg.”

Nathan pulls a face. “Can’t believe I only have a week left before Vic Falls. You’ve made this a great trip, Louis.”

“You’re a great group,” Louis says honestly.

“Your favourites?”

Louis’ eyes flick to Harry. He’s leaning against the side of the truck not even pretending not to listen in. “For sure, Nathan. Right!” He raises his voice. “Salad’s up, everyone. Let’s make this quick, because the bushmen are waiting for us in Ghanzi.”

*

Louis’ headache worsens as the afternoon wears on and Zayn plays dodgem with the cows, goats, and donkeys that randomly wander the Botswanan roads. The border took so long that they won’t reach Ghanzi in time for the planned exploration of the Kalahari with the bushmen, so that will have to be rearranged for morning before the drive to Maun. That’ll be a fun discussion. 

The sun burns through the window beside him. It’s too hot and he forgot to buy water at the Spar because he was so focused on getting sugar into his system and now he’s dehydrating, but Zayn will smack him over the head if he confesses his stupidity and asks to share his. 

He shouldn’t have eaten all his koeksisters yesterday. No wonder he had a stomach ache all night. 

How can it be taking them this long to drive the two hundred kilometres from the border? They have a new truck now that can drive at speed. What the hell is Zayn playing at?

Why is Harry’s hoodie so fucking soft and cosy to lean his head against as a pillow? It’s just a hoodie, and it’s not like Harry made it himself out of some sacred silk. Louis could just as easily have bought the exact same one himself. It doesn’t carry any magical Harry essence designed especially to give Louis maximum comfort and happiness. He needs to find something warm in Maun so he can give Harry back this hoodie.

“Stop fidgeting and go back to sleep, Louis.”

“I’m hot.”

“Open the window.”

“It’s too dusty.”

“Have some water.”

“Don’t have any.”

Zayn darts him a sharp look. “What happened to it?”

He doesn’t dare say he forgot. “Finished it.”

“Take mine.” Zayn swerves around a cow then bends down to fish out his two-litre water bottle. “Drink as much as you need.”

It helps, a little. The pounding in his head lessens slightly, but then that means his mind starts to wander and that’s dangerous. So he focuses on the vegetable curry he and—he scheduled for tonight. Hopefully that’ll convey his appreciation to Zayn. As the sun turns the dusty skies to red, Louis mentally sorts through his remaining supplies and plans his strategy to get dinner delivered as quickly as possible after arrival. Of course tonight would be the night of one of the smaller groups on cooking duty and he could do with Harry’s help chopping vegetables—which is ridiculous because three additional helpers is plenty and he’ll be fine. A permanent cooking assistant is not something he’s supplied with in general and he needs to stop relying on it.

It’s full dark by the time Zayn draws the truck up beside the scattering of grass bushman huts. All of the passengers have chosen to pay the slight fee to upgrade to the huts, and fortunately there are still several hours left of camp electricity before the blanket lights-out at ten, so everyone can see as they choose their huts and lug their bags across the sand to their little homes for the night. Louis prays no one sees a rat or panics about a spider and comes to yell at him about it. 

The curry is a smash success. Everyone loves it and Zayn gives him a satisfied nod, which is the best approval Louis can hope for, and he feels better enough to dispatch them all off for their evening’s entertainment of traditional bushmen tribal dancing around the fire while he takes care of the dishes by himself for the day’s washing crew. 

He doesn’t get very far before a familiar figure appears, silhouetted against the fire in the distance. “Lou?”

“You’re missing the dancing, Harry.”

“Niall just told me you’re doing the washing up alone.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re missing the dancing too, though.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“I can help.” Harry picks up one of the drying clothes. “Then maybe you can catch the end of the show.”

Louis snatches the cloth from him. “It really is fine. I have a bit of a headache, so I’m better away from the clapping and banging and shouting.”

Unimpressed, Harry reaches for another cloth. “All the more reason you should let me help you.”

“Harry—”

Harry starts drying the plates Louis had stacked to dry later. “Do you have something to take for your head?”

“Sleep should help. Harry, please. You’re missing a once-in-a-lifetime cultural event over there.”

“I know.” Harry glances away with a troubled frown. “I didn’t realise I was going to feel so uncomfortable in Africa. I wanted to learn about the local cultures but so often it feels—I don’t know, it’s like—I don’t want to say like a zoo exhibit, but that’s the only way I can describe it. Am I wrong to feel like that?”

Okay, Louis can do this. This is tour leading stuff, not Harry-and-Louis stuff. “This is a really great place, Haz.” He picks up the next lot of plates to start washing as he talks. “The bushman culture has almost been destroyed, but here they have an opportunity to preserve it and share it with others. Tonight is the traditional dancing, rituals that go back for millennia, and tomorrow morning they’ll take you for a walk into the Kalahari to teach you about how they used to live out there, their ancient tracking and hunting skills, what they did for water, the roots they used for medicinal purposes, even how they made fire.”

“It’s not just a performance put on for us?”

Louis understands why Harry feels discomforted by that. “Think of it as the African version of, say, going to see a traditional Chinese opera if you were visiting Beijing, or a play at the Globe in London, or visiting the great cathedrals of Europe.”

“Or the Louvre or Vatican City,” Harry adds.

Of course, Harry’s done all those European cultural things. “Yes, exactly. So, yeah, they’re putting on a performance but it’s a way of keeping their disappearing culture alive and making it visible to the rest of the world.”

“I like that.” Harry’s frown smooths out and he glances across to the energetic show happening beside the fire as he continues to dry. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow. They really show you how they make fire?”

“They do. You get a chance to try it as well.”

“That would be amazing,” Harry muses, “to say you made fire.”

“You never know.”

Harry falls silent, presumably thinking about fire. The bare bulb dangling from the side of the truck illuminates half his face, but casts the rest into darkness. As Louis watches, he chews on his lower lip, his troubled expression returning, but he doesn’t say anything until they’ve moved on to washing all the cutlery. He fishes a handful of forks out of the rinsing water and says, “I want to apologise, Louis.”

And—no. Louis can’t do this. “There’s nothing for you to apologise for. Look, we’re almost finished here so why don’t you go back to the fire to catch the end—”

“I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position,” Harry keeps going doggedly. “If I’ve been too much of a problem, then I can leave the tour. We’ve written—”

“What the fuck? You’re not leaving the tour!”

Abandoning the cutlery, Harry turns fully to face him, the lines of his face stark and bleak in the harsh light. “I’ve behaved inappropriately and—”

“You haven’t! Harry, stop it.”

“But I di—”

“Stop talking!”

Harry stops, mid-word. 

Louis’ head feels like it’s going to implode. How is he supposed to fix this? What does he say? _It wasn’t you, it’s me?_ “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he says carefully. “Quite the opposite, you’ve been wonderful. I love having you on this tour. You—” He tries to swallow the words that want to come next, but he can’t. “You’re one of my favourite people, Haz.”

“But—can I talk yet?”

Louis nods, because he’s scared to hear what else might come out his own mouth.

“I’ve obviously made you feel uncomfortable,” Harry says seriously, “and that’s the last thing I want. I didn’t mean to take liberties—”

“You didn’t.”

“I banned you from your own kitchen, Louis.”

“To give me a break. And if I’m honest, I needed that break, I really did. I was—you saw—I wasn’t having a good day and you helped me. You’ve helped me so much on this tour, Haz, so please, _please,_ don’t think you’re being any kind of a problem, because you’re not. At all.”

“Then why…” Harry pauses. 

....did Louis lie about being straight? Louis can hear the end of the question as clearly as though Harry said it aloud. This is it. This is where he can tell Harry the truth, admit to the feelings he’s having. Harry won’t judge him. Harry will listen with understanding and acceptance, then he’ll urge Louis to come clean to Michelle and that won’t end well and now Louis can’t breathe and this is so absolutely fucking stupid because he never has panic attacks but he’s well enough trained in how to deal with them that he can recognise when one’s happening to him.

“It’s okay, Lou.” Harry’s voice cuts through the whirling chaos. “You’re okay. Breathe with me. Louis, look at me.”

“’m fine,” Louis gasps. Harry’s eyes are dark and steady on his. “I’m fine. Fuck. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

This is mortifying. First he cries in front of Harry and now he spirals into a panic attack. He focuses on getting a full breath into his constricted lungs, and then another. “I have a headache. I told you. Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. You said that and I still forced this conversation on you when I should have left you alone. I’m sorry.” Harry steps back, out of Louis’ personal space. He picks up his drying cloth again. “I’ll finish the dishes, if you want to go and rest.”

“They’re basically finished, it’s fine.” He needs to stop saying _fine._ “I’m fine to finish up here and you can still catch the end of the performance.”

Harry surveys him. “How about this,” he says. “We finish them together, then you come with me to my hut, where I can give you a massage to help your headache.”

A massage. In Harry’s hut.

“Just your back and shoulders,” Harry hurries to add, turning pink. “That wasn’t—I wasn’t propositioning you. I’m good at giving massages, I often give one to Liam when he has a headache, so I thought—” He grabs a handful of cutlery to resume his drying. “Sorry, never mind. I shouldn’t have—”

Louis can’t bear it. “I’d love that, Harry.”

Harry’s face brightens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*

The thing is, he actually does want a massage. His shoulders are hunched up by his ears, rigid with tension, and there’s no way he’ll be able to fall asleep like this. 

Except, how much is he going to relax if Harry’s the one touching him? 

But Harry beams down at the cutlery as he finishes it off, and Louis feels like this must be the right decision. He can do this. It will be innocent; both of them will ensure that it is. He knows he’s safe with Harry, especially with Harry in this stricken, apologetic mood. Harry won’t touch him in any inappropriate way and Louis won’t be disappointed that he doesn’t.

Even so, he makes sure no one’s paying attention when they close up the kitchen for the night, lock everything away in the storage hatches in the bottom of the truck, and head for Harry’s hut. The huts are modelled after traditional bushman huts, long sticks lashed together to form a small round room, covered with thick dried grass. It’s just high enough for them to stand up in, and each hut contains two cots with mattresses, mosquito nets dangling over them. Unlike in traditional huts, the floor has been cemented, rather than being open to the desert sand, and a bare bulb provides a dull golden light. Harry reaches for the door, a four-foot high separate rectangle of sticks and grass, and places it in front of the gap they’ve just ducked through. 

“Okay if I close it?”

“Better, keeps the mosquitoes out.” That reminds Louis. “You did start taking your malaria pills in Swakop like you were meant to, yeah?”

Harry nods as he twists the mosquito net up above the bed that he hasn’t spread his sleeping bag over and ties it off. “Do you guys just take them all the time?”

“We don’t take them at all.”

That stops Harry in his tracks. “What? Why not? Louis, you need protection too!”

It felt wrong to Louis too, in the beginning. He felt at constant risk, but so far he’s been safe. “It’s not good to take them long term, and they can have a lot of side effects that are difficult to manage with lives on the constant move like ours are. We know how to take other protective measures and we have excellent health insurance through the company if anything does happen.”

“I’ll spray repellent everywhere in here before we get started. Do you want me to massage you with the mosquito net down around us?”

That sounds too intimate to Louis. “No, repellent should be fine. I’m covered in it anyway, so sorry if I’m a bit sticky to touch.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Harry crouches in the corner of the tent to rifle through his bag for his repellent. “I’d much rather you be safe.”

Louis rarely gets any mosquito bites. The little terrors seem drawn to certain people while they avoid others completely, and he’s one of the lucky ones they don’t seem to like. Zayn says it’s because he’s too tart for them. Louis thinks that’s just because they target Zayn like he’s a neon bullseye in the dark. 

“Lie down on the bed,” Harry says, spraying repellent randomly into the air. “Should I spray it first?”

“No, it’s fine. We won’t be able to breathe in here if you do.” Louis sits on the edge of the narrow cot and kicks off his flipflops. “Open the door again and spray my feet, Haz.”

“But that will let the mosquitoes in.”

“Believe me, they can find their way through the grass thatching, but if you’re spraying that around, then we need some oxygen so we don’t poison ourselves.”

“Oh!” Harry grabs the door with alacrity and moves it aside. “Do you have repellent on beneath your shirt? Because I was going to suggest that you take it off.”

Of course he was. “Just do me over my shirt,” Louis instructs, stretching out on the bed on his stomach. “Spray the back of my legs for me, will you? I should be wearing trousers but I forgot to change out of my shorts.”

Harry sprays the chilly repellent down the back of Louis’ calves before bustling over to close the door again. “Are you okay for me to rub it in?”

“Yeah.” He can handle skin-on-skin contact if it’s that far down. 

It feels good. Harry’s hands are strong, not only evening out the sticky spray over Louis’ skin, but digging firmly into the tight muscles of his calves and then moving down towards his feet. “I did a course once,” he says after several silent minutes of work, “learning reflexology. If you’re okay with it, it’ll probably help your head if I do your feet for a bit.”

His head. Louis’ headache has already eased, or maybe he just forgot about it, lost in the bliss spreading outwards from his loosening muscles. “You never told me you have a foot fetish, Harold.”

Harry laughs. It’s not his usual happy giggle, but it’s lower, deeper. “I don’t know if you can call it a fetish.” He picks up one of Louis’ feet, bending his leg back at the knee so he can press his thumbs hard into the arch of the foot. “And what happened to Harriet?”

“She turned into Haz. Didn’t you notice?”

Harry switches to using his knuckles, right where Louis is most sore. “I don’t think she’s gone entirely. You just need to pay attention.”

“Ow, fuck.” Louis can’t pay attention to anything right now beside the searing sensation of pain. “You’re injuring me!”

“Am not.” Harry eases off on the pressure, but he keeps working on the same area. “That’s where you need it, that’s where the pain is coming from.”

“Because you just jabbed me there!”

“I actually did it less hard there because I could feel it hurting you. That’s how it works. If I was better with this, if I remembered more from my course, I could tell you exactly which part of your body that bit correlates to. It’s probably your head.” Fingers softer now, Harry soothes the rest of Louis’ foot then lays it down before picking up the other one. “Ready for more?”

“Be gentle with me, Haz.”

Harry is. Louis feels the exploratory touch, pressing gradually harder until Louis hisses and tries to jerk away. Harry holds him fast. “There we go, same spot on that side. I won’t press so hard, I promise, but let me work on it a bit.”

Louis could get used to this, maybe. Now it’s no longer being attacked, his first foot feels warm, tingling with increased blood flow. Considering how cold his feet get at night, he could do with a frequent Harry massage before bed. Would it be too much to ask Harry to do this again before the trip is over? Maybe he can bribe Harry with the offer of helping out with cooking whenever he likes if he’ll only do reflexology on Louis’ feet on a regular basis. 

“It’s time for your back now,” Harry announces, laying Louis’ second foot down. “It’ll be easier if I kneel across you. Is that okay? Or would you rather I kneel on the concrete floor and do one side and then the other?”

Of course Louis won’t ask him to kneel on the concrete floor. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. The cot is barely wide enough for Harry to balance his knees on either side of Louis’ hips. His thighs press hard against Louis as he hovers just above Louis’ bum, careful not to make contact. 

“You can sit down,” Louis tells him. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay.” Harry’s voice is even deeper than before. “I’m fine. Can you feel where the tension is coming from the most? Is there any part of your back or your shoulders or neck that hurts worst?”

“You’re not going to stab your knuckles into me to find out for yourself?”

“You didn’t seem a big fan of that technique.” But as he speaks, Harry runs his hands over Louis’ spine. 

Louis groans, flexing into them. “Fuck, yeah. Do that.”

“Feels good?”

“So good. Harder.”

“Yeah?” Harry laughs again, but he doesn’t sound amused. He intensifies the pressure, dragging his thumbs up either side of Louis’ spine, and Louis wants to sob with how good it feels. 

“Where’ve you been all my life?” he murmurs into his folded arms. 

“In Holmes Chapel, mostly.”

“Where’s that?”

“A little village in Cheshire. Not the easiest place to be gay, I can tell you, although it’s better now than it used to be.”

Louis doesn’t like to think about Harry being targeted by homophobic villagers. “Did you have a bad time of it?”

“Not too bad.” His thumbs focus just below Louis’ neck then start their downward journey again, rubbing firm little circles either side of Louis’ spine. “They always thought I was an odd kid anyway, and when it came out that I was gay they weren’t surprised. The boys at school weren’t really my friends, but they weren’t mean to me. Not a lot. I was quite popular with the girls, which they didn’t understand.”

Louis can imagine how safe the girls felt with gentle, lovely Harry. “I’m glad it wasn’t too bad for you. Doncaster wouldn’t have been so kind.”

Harry’s hands falter. “You—Louis, you didn’t—no, of course you didn’t. I know you’re not like that.”

“I didn’t bully gay kids, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Not that there were any. Rather, if there were, they kept it hidden.” Like Louis did. 

“Good thing I didn’t grow up there then,” Harry says, turning his hands over to use his knuckles on Louis’ lower back, which Louis didn’t know was tight until he feels rigid muscles start to yield. “Don’t think I could have hidden it. Hidden myself. I wouldn’t want to.”

Louis is bisexual, at least he thinks he must be, so maybe that made hiding easier for him. He had another option, so he stuck with it and it was okay. It wasn’t bad. He had girlfriends from age fourteen, lost his virginity at sixteen and liked it, and he’s enjoyed sex with girls and women ever since. But if he hadn’t had that option, if it was boys or nothing like it evidently is with Harry, could he have remained in denial? 

“How old were you when you got your first boyfriend?” The intimacy of the hut and Harry’s hands on Louis’ back make it feel acceptable to prod for more information. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind.” Harry keeps going on Louis’ lower back, shifting himself further down Louis’ legs to make the angle easier. Now that he’s perched over Louis’ lower thighs, he lets himself drop until all his weight rests on them. The warm heaviness feels comforting rather than restrictive and Louis parts his legs a little to give Harry a more stable resting place. “I was sixteen. I met him on the internet, he was Australian. We used to talk every night, morning for him—he’d wake up extra early, like before school, to chat to me.”

“He was your age?”

“A year older. He’d had a real boyfriend, but only on a summer holiday, so he knew things.” Harry emphasises the last two words. “I knew nothing and my mother blocked access to a lot of sites that could have taught me things, so I mostly learned from Alex. We broke up, if you can call it that, when he started university and met someone in person, but I was grateful for the experience because then, when I met my own in-person person, I had an idea what to do and how to do it.”

“Was that at university?”

“Yes. Obviously it couldn’t happen in Holmes Chapel.”

“Was it a serious...” Louis pauses, wondering how to phrase it before deciding to go with Harry’s chosen phrase. "...in-person person?”

“Not the first few. More, like, experiments, if I’m honest. I was really eager to try, to get some real experience, so I wasn’t that fussy. Just wanted someone who wanted me back, you know?”

Louis remembers feeling like that. He felt adrift in Manchester, no siblings to rush home to take care of, his girlfriend from college attending a university so far away they decided it was best to break up before the distance did it for them. He slept around at first, wanting a warm body and someone to touch more than an actual person, but then he started wanting something more, something deeper. That’s when he met Michelle. 

“But you did find someone serious?” he asks.

“I thought so. He didn’t quite think the same.”

Oh. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Not many people have uni romances that turn into forever adult relationships.”

“I thought I did,” Louis says before he can stop himself. 

Harry’s hands still. “Is that where you met, then?” he asks, resuming his slow, steady strokes up to Louis’ shoulder blades. “In uni?”

“Yeah.” Maybe talking about Michelle with Harry will help. “Towards the end of my first year. We worked together. I was a bartender and she was a waitress.”

“You were a bartender?”

He can hear the smirk in Harry’s voice and reaches back to smack his thigh. “I was a good bartender, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you were, Lou.” Harry catches his hand, squeezing it before leaning down to place it back beside Louis’ head. “I’d have told you all my troubles, I think, and you could have given me excellent advice.”

“It would be excellent,” Louis agrees. 

“What did you study?”

“Drama and education. I wanted to teach.”

“Oh!” Harry sounds delighted. “You’d be such a great teacher.”

“Except I didn’t finish.”

“What happened?”

“Dropped out in my second year.”

“Because of Michelle?” Harry’s voice is hesitant.

Shit. How the fuck did he end up here? “I went home with her the previous summer, to Cape Town. Met her brothers, who started me surfing. We both went back in September but then...” He can’t. “In December we returned to Cape Town and—and now I’m doing this.”

“You never went back to England?”

“No.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Five years ago.”

Harry’s stopped massaging. His large hands close over Louis’ shoulders. It could feel trapping, but instead it feels like Harry is holding him together as Harry asks carefully, “Why didn’t you go back?”

It’s an easy question. With a simple answer. Three words, that’s all it will take. Three words and Harry will understand enough to stop asking questions. 

Three words that Louis has never been able to utter, not even in the depths of his own mind. 

“Lou?”

“Thought you were a massage therapist, not a shrink,” Louis snaps. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s—you don’t need to answer. I’ll stop—I won’t ask anything. How is your head?”

Splitting apart. “A fuck lot worse now, thanks.”

“I’ll shut up, I swear. I’ll make it better. I promise.”

“Then get on with it.”

Harry’s hands aren’t as sure when they resume stroking. They stutter around, spend a few seconds on Louis’ shoulders, move down to his waist, shoot back up to his neck, but to do his neck Harry has to shift further up again. “Can I—"

“Yes. It’s fine.”

His neck is where the worst tension is. It hurts in the best way when Harry drags his thumbs up to the base of his skull and back down. 

“Again.”

Harry switches to using his knuckles, eight points of intense tension relief as they glide from his shoulders to his hairline and back again. 

“Higher.”

Harry’s fingers straighten at the top this time and slide deep into Louis’ hair, fanning out to rub slow circles around his scalp. It’s excruciating and heavenly and it jolts something loose right where Louis holds things most tightly. 

He digs his teeth sharply into his lower lip.

Harry’s fingers complete another circle.

Louis literally bites his tongue.

Harry’s thumbs trace up behind Louis’ ears to make little circles of their own at his temples, and Louis blurts, “My mother died.”

The lights go out.

*

“Oh no,” Harry says.

“It must be ten o’clock.” That’s when the electricity goes out in the camp. Louis tries to turn over, but Harry’s a heavy lump holding him down. “I should go.”

“Stay.”

He can’t. He said the words and he feels like he’s going to throw up or cry or vibrate into pieces. 

“Lou, it’s okay.”

“’s not.”

“No, not about your mother, of course that’s not okay—”

“She didn’t even tell me.” Or vomit out truths he’s blocked out of his own consciousness. “She wouldn’t let my sister tell me. She knew for three months and didn’t tell me that she was terminal. I was away at uni, partying and living it up, and my mum was fucking dying and I didn’t know.”

“Louis—”

He slams his fists into the rough mattress as emotion he’s long denied blasts through him. “She died and I never got to say goodbye. Her last weekend, I was meant to go home. I’d said I would but then I had an exam and I’d put off studying until it was too late, so I stayed at uni. I thought it was fine. I thought I’d be home for the Christmas holidays in a couple of weeks so it wouldn’t matter. It was just a few days, right? And on Sunday night, she—Amy—my sister called me. My mum died that afternoon. When I should have been there.”

Somehow in the middle of that torrent of words Harry’s moved off him and he’s turned over and Harry’s beside him on the cot, cradling him into his chest as Louis erupts with his most unforgivable truth. Harry strokes his hair, murmuring inaudible comfort. Comfort Louis doesn’t deserve.

“I yelled at her,” he continues, since Harry apparently doesn’t get how undeserving Louis is, “at my sister, for not telling me. I refused to talk to her at the funeral. I left her with Jess and the twins and Trix, and then I got on a plane with Michelle the following day and I’ve never been back. I’ve never talked to any of them again.”

“Oh, Louis.”

“Don’t,” he grits. “Don’t say my name like that. Like it’s okay. It’s not. I was a shit son and a shit brother and it’s not okay.”

Harry keeps up his stroking. “Do you know how they are? What happened to them?”

Maybe this will be easier to talk about. “My—Amy finished uni, unlike me. She’s now a teacher.” Unlike him. “The others live with their father and his new wife.”

“Their father?”

“My mother’s second husband. Amy and I are—they’re our half-siblings.” How is his voice even steady? “They seem fine. Happy.” Oops, there goes his voice. 

“Are they all girls?” Harry keeps up the conversation steadily, as though Louis isn’t fizzling into bits. “You said—Jess and twins and, um, Trix?”

“The twins are boys.” He’d been so happy when they were born. “They've just turned thirteen. Nothing alike, but they look identical. Jess and Trixie are two years on either side of them, roughly.”

“And Amy? You’re full siblings?”

Amy. Amy, who he can barely stand to think about. “We’re twins. Also.” 

“Oh, Lou.”

Damn it, he doesn’t want Harry sounding sorry for him. “Not identical. Not like Rob and Matt.” As if how they look matters in the slightest. But it’s easier to talk about that than to say— “She knew.” The words leak out of him despite himself. “She knew Mum was—that it couldn’t be cured. She fucking knew, and she didn’t tell me.”

“Why didn’t she?”

Louis knows he has no right to hold this against Amy. “Mum told her not to.” He shouldn’t still feel such anger, such unfettered rage. “She didn’t want to distract me from my studies. Guess she didn’t think her fucking death would be a big fucking distraction of itself. She knew I’d leave, come home again to be with her for those final months, like Amy got to be because she was studying at Donny, and Amy said she didn’t want me to. I’d’ve had all the goddamn time in the world for uni afterwards.” He spits the words out with venom, just like he had to Amy when she confessed the truth and he went off at her. 

Harry, not a teenage girl in shock and mourning herself, gathers him closer and rocks him gently on the bed. “It sounds like your mother loved you very much.”

“She did.” Fury abruptly spent, Louis whispers the words into Harry’s neck. 

“You were close?”

“It was just her, me and Amy for the first nine years, after my dad left. We were a team.” 

That’s why he can’t understand why his mum chose Amy to confide in, to lean on, to be the one there with her to the end, while she exiled Louis. How much of a failure had he been that she didn’t want him there during the final days of her life? Amy said it wasn’t like that, that their mum knew how happy he was away at uni, thriving in a way he never did at school, and she hadn’t wanted to spoil it for him. But like he said to Harry, what did she think he’d do after she died? That he’d just keep partying? 

She definitely hadn’t thought he’d run away to Africa and abandon everyone. 

Pain throbs across his temples. This is what happens every time he tries to think about it. Which is why he doesn’t, damn it.

“Do you keep in contact with anyone from home?”

“Just keep an eye on them. Through Instagram. Not often.”

“And you said they’re doing okay?” 

“As of when we were in Etosha, yeah.”

“In—oh.” 

Now Harry knows why Louis was crying there. Louis stiffens, preparing for some comment about it, but Harry pats his back and resumes stroking through his hair. 

“I’m glad they’re doing well,” is all he says. 

“They look happy,” Louis continues, because he can’t help it, even though he needs to shut the hell up. “Like they don’t mind that I’m gone.”

“You’ll go back.” Harry’s voice is confident and he twines their legs together on the bed so they’re tangled up as one. “When it’s right. And they’ll be very happy to see you.”

Louis can’t even imagine it. “How do you know?” he scoffs.

Harry spreads out his hand over Louis’ heart. “Because they’re in here. And you’re in theirs. No matter how long. Nothing can change that.”

Louis covers Harry’s hand with his and they lie there in the darkness, listening as the camp goes to bed around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	14. Chapter 14

**Day 14 - Harry**

**Ghanzi to Maun, Botswana**

He’s cold. Shivering, in fact, which he rarely does. 

No, Harry realises, waking up completely, it’s Louis who’s shivering, trembling uncontrollably in Harry’s arms while still deeply asleep. 

Harry should wake him, send him back to his tent, to Zayn, where he belongs. Isn’t Zayn worried about him? Because Louis essentially vanished from their camp during the bushman dancing, as did Harry. Did Zayn surmise they were together? If he’s honest, Harry has been acting rather territorially towards Louis in front of Zayn. He still cringes at his insistence that he make Louis’ tea, when Zayn’s probably been making it for Louis for years. 

Because they fell asleep without meaning to, he hasn’t set up his bag with his phone and headtorch within easy reach. It’s pitch black, no light at all in the hut. He pulls away from Louis, who grumbles but doesn’t wake, and feels blindly for the other bed. Ah, there’s the sleeping bag. It’s not as warm as the big fluffy blanket he’s seen Louis carrying to his tent, but it’s better than no cover at all. He tucks it around Louis, trying not to think about what body parts he might accidentally be touching in the dark, then gingerly crosses the floor in the direction he remembers leaving his bag.

It’s a good thing he’s grown accustomed to feeling for things without light. His fingers easily find his phone, which he charged on the truck during the drive yesterday so it still has plenty of battery to light up the hut and inform him it’s just after three. Not too much longer until their six o’clock wake up call. 

He doesn’t know Louis’ sleeping patterns. Does he find it hard to get to sleep again if he’s woken in the night? If Harry gives him his headtorch and shoves him out to return to his own bed, will he lie awake the rest of the night brooding about the painful personal things he revealed? Harry has the feeling Louis never talks about his mother or his siblings. The way each word seemed wrenched out of his very depths implied they didn’t come easily. He probably hasn’t talked about it for years. Possibly ever.

Harry feels a sense of pride that Louis chose him to confide in. He shouldn’t. If Louis was looking at their Instagrams at Etosha, he’s been thinking about them for a while and Harry just happened to be the one here last night when Louis broke. It might have been better if he’d talked to Zayn instead.

Is it wrong for Harry to feel glad that it was him? 

This is not the time to think about it. Now is three more hours with Louis in his bed, dependent on Harry for warmth and comfort. This campsite in the Kalahari is colder than any they’ve had for a while and Louis is without his fluffy blanket. Taking his phone and headtorch to lay on the floor within reach at the head of the bed, he pulls his travel pillow off the other bed as well. After loosening the mosquito net to flutter down around them, he lifts one corner of the sleeping bag. Louis whimpers at the exposure to cold air and Harry hurriedly slides onto the bed beside him, using his own natural body warmth to soothe Louis’ chilled skin. Louis, who’s been curled up with his back to Harry and the rest of the room, wriggles around to snuggle against his chest, making little soft sounds of need until Harry wraps him up tightly in his arms. 

“Mmm,” Louis says inarticulately, sounding pleased. “Mmm, H’z.”

He knows it’s Harry providing his warmth. 

Harry feels so hot with satisfaction that he barely needs the sleeping bag. 

*

The next time he wakes, it’s because Louis is thrashing around. He jolts awake at the pain of a knee in his stomach, just in time to get an elbow in the eye. 

“Lou, hey.” He grabs Louis’ arms and tries to trap his flailing legs with one of his. “It’s okay, Louis, you’re safe, you’re fine. It’s me. Harry. Um, Styles.”

“Haz?” Louis goes still, his voice tiny. 

“Yeah, Lou, it’s me. You’re with me in bed. We’re in Ghanzi, in a bushman hut. We were talking last night and we fell asleep.”

“’m cold.”

“Sorry. I don’t have a warm blanket like you do. Hang on, I can get you some extra clothes to put on.” But when he tries to move away, Louis clings. “Louis, you need to let me go.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

It feels wrong to have Louis unwrap himself, but Harry forces himself out of bed. The concrete floor is icy against his bare feet and hurts his knees when he drops down to feel inside his bag for his extra hoodie. He finds some sweatpants as well, possibly not as clean as they could be, but he doesn’t figure Louis will mind, and hurries back to the bed. 

“Here.” He dumps them on the lump on the bed that must be Louis.

It is. “Thanks,” Louis says. The cot squeaks as he shuffles around to pull the clothes on while still in bed. “What’s the time?”

Harry crouches down to check his phone, which comes on with a shocking bright light. “Half five.”

As he tugs the hoodie down over his head, Louis blinks up at Harry then screws up his eyes against the light. “Wake up’s at six.”

“Yeah.”

“Not much point going back to sleep now.”

“We still have half an hour.” 

The phone returns to standby mode, taking the light with it. Harry’s breathing sounds loud and fast in the darkness. He’s not sure what to do. Is it presumptuous to get back into bed beside Louis? Maybe he should lie down on the other bed. He can wrap his travel towel around him or something for warmth. 

“Are you coming then?” Louis’ voice is impatient.

“To bed?”

“Only twenty-nine minutes now.”

Louis wants him back. Harry sits down on the edge and feels his way under the spread sleeping bag. The bed is too narrow to avoid bumping into Louis. “Shit. Sorry.”

Louis shifts closer. He’s turned his back again, and he presses himself back against Harry’s front. “How’re you so warm?”

“I’m not.”

“A lot warmer than me.”

Harry drapes his arm over Louis. “Is this okay?”

“Excellent. Stay there.”

“Not going anywhere, Lou.”

*

When the alarm goes, they’re still awake. Harry reaches down to silence his phone.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you last night,” Louis says into the darkness.

“It’s all right. Sorry I didn’t, like, have anything warm for you, like your blanket.”

“You’re warm. Like my own hot water bottle.”

Harry likes that idea. “Except I stay hot.”

“Very hot,” Louis agrees.

It doesn’t sound like they’re still talking about temperature from the tone of his voice, but that’s ridiculous. Obviously Louis doesn’t find him hot in the other sense. 

“It’s your bushman walk this morning,” Louis says after a couple of minutes pass with neither of them moving to get up. 

“After breakfast, right?”

“Yeah. I need to get breakfast going.”

“I can do it.”

“What duty are you on today?”

“Truck packing. But I can get breakfast started too, if you want to sleep in a bit.”

“That’s not how this works.”

It would be, if Harry had any say. “I don’t mind.”

“I do.”

Fair enough. “What time does the electricity come back on?”

“At seven, but the sun’ll be rising soon so we won’t need it.”

That means it’s getting light outside already. Which means Louis won’t be able to slip out of Harry’s hut as invisibly as he entered it, and that might be a problem. “We’d better leave separately,” Harry says. “I showered last night before dinner because I got so dirty sweeping out the truck, so I don’t need to shower again. I can go set out the breakfast stuff, get the water boiling, while you go to the showers.”

“My stuff’s in the tent with Zayn. Fuck.”

Zayn. Louis’ colleague. Who knows Louis didn’t spend the night where he was supposed to. “He’s your friend, right?” Harry says hesitantly. “He’ll understand that you fell asleep somewhere else after talking about your family?”

Louis stiffens in his arms. “Harry.” 

“I mean, he knows we’re friends.” Please let Louis still feel like they’re friends after last night. “He won’t get you in any trouble, will he?”

Evidently realising Harry isn’t going to pursue the topic of their late-night conversation, Louis relaxes again. “He won’t tell anyone. He won’t approve, though.”

“We didn’t do anything.”

Louis doesn’t answer. They did do something. It wasn’t sexual, there was none of that, but on an emotional level everything’s changed between them. 

“Would he be willing to help if I went to him and asked him to take your stuff to you at the showers?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he would.”

“Right.” Harry injects as much finality into his voice as he can. “Let’s do that then. I’ll come back and pack up my stuff when you come to take over breakfast.”

He feels the vibrations against his chest as Louis laughs. “You’re impossible to keep out of the kitchen, aren’t you?”

“It’s my happy place,” Harry says solemnly.

Louis laughs louder. “I meant what I said last night, Haz. You’re a pleasure on this trip, you really are.”

Good. “I aim to please.”

“You do, love.” Louis’ hand finds his and squeezes it. “Thanks. For last night. For—for everything.”

“Any time.” He squeezes back, hard. 

*

Zayn already has the tables set up when Harry arrives at the truck. Narrowed dark eyes rake up and down Harry’s body as if looking for evidence of wrongdoing, and Harry flushes despite himself. He wants to run away, to hide in the showers with Louis, but makes himself casually saunter up to Zayn. “Louis needs his shower stuff and some clothes,” he says after checking no one else is around to hear. 

Zayn sets down the gas cooker he’s holding. “And will I find him in your hut?”

“He’s at the showers.”

Silently, Zayn nods.

“He talked about his mother last night,” Harry says in a rush. “He got upset, then he fell asleep. That’s all.”

“His mother?”

“You know.” But what if Zayn doesn’t know? What if Louis’ never told him? “He told me something about his past,” he says carefully, “and it wasn’t easy for him and he needed comfort, and then he fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake him up in case he got upset again and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I let him stay.”

“Uh huh.” 

“I’ll see to breakfast, you don’t need to worry about that. Just—would you please go to Louis and take him whatever he needs?”

Zayn nods again, more as though he’s considering what Harry said than agreeing to the plan. “He all right this morning, Louis?”

Good, he does know something. “I think so. I made him laugh before I left. I think maybe last night helped. It was....” What’s the word he needs? “Cathartic.”

“Cathartic.” This time Zayn’s nod is acquiescence. “Are you wanting your blue hoodie back, or can I take that to him?”

“It’s his,” Harry’s quick to reassure him. “I have others. I don’t need it back. He can keep it for the rest of the trip. I want him to.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “I’ll let you tell him that.” He tosses Harry the keys for the hatches that store the rest of the kitchenware and food. “Breakfast this morning is just cereal and toast. No need to make sandwiches for lunch because we’ll be in Maun by then.”

Louis shows up less than ten minutes later. He’s in Harry’s hoodie and a pair of cut-off jeans, hair washed and combed, showing no signs of the storm that battered through him during the night. He arrives with a joke on himself about oversleeping, which makes everyone laugh, and Harry cedes the toast-making to him without a word. They share a flicker of eye contact, then Louis returns his attention to his passengers and Harry slips away through the gathering crowd to dress himself properly for the day and pack up his stuff so he’s ready for the bushman walk.

*

The walk with the San bushmen is riveting. They enter the camp in full traditional clothing, the men in just a loincloth made from animal skin, the older women in much the same. A girl Harry guesses is about his age has a second skin draped around her waist and up over one shoulder to cover her breasts. All five seem utterly unselfconscious surrounded by tourists who are completely covered up. 

They lead the group swiftly out into the bushes of the Kalahari. The old man, who is clearly the leader, explains via the local guide how they track the animals through the sand. Then the women take over, digging up various roots and plants to demonstrate how they were used to treat different ailments in the community. 

“So, you disappeared last night.”

Harry looks up at Liam from the root he’s photographing, which can be used for easing headaches. If only he’d known last night, known how to find it and prepare it to treat Louis. “I helped Louis with the washing up.”

“And then?”

“We talked a bit.” Harry takes a final close-up picture and stands. He has no reason to hide anything from Liam; nothing happened. 

“And then?” Liam persists.

“We slept.”

“Together?”

Harry looks furtively around as the group moves on towards a plant that gave the San the poison that they used for their hunting arrows. “Shut it, Liam. Of course not. He’s straight. He has a girlfriend. It’s not like that.”

“But he spent the night in your hut.” Liam stops walking, gripping Harry’s arm so he’s forced to stop too as the others file past. Niall’s talking with Rolf and Annette and passes them with only a curious glance. “I know, Harry. Zayn and Niall and I were looking for you two after the show last night. Zayn said he saw you leave the truck together towards the huts, so I went to your door. I was going to call out to let you know I was there, but then I heard voices.”

“Liam, if you heard what Louis said—”

“I didn’t. You don’t need to look so alarmed. I wasn’t spying on you. I just heard your voices, both of yours, and that was enough to know where you were and know you were safe inside the camp. You’re lucky Zayn saw you so we knew where to look before raising a general search party with everybody to find you both. You need to be more careful.”

“There’s nothing to be careful about.” Relieved Liam didn’t hear the details of Louis’ confession, Harry wrenches his arm free. “Nothing happened, Liam. We talked. Louis shared some of his background and got a bit emotional talking about it. Then we fell asleep. It was completely innocent.”

“Are you trying to tell me you slept in different beds?” Liam asks sceptically. “You only have one sleeping bag, Harry.”

“You can share a bed for warmth, you know.” Harry starts walking since he’s missed the details of the poison plant and the group is already moving on. “Liam, I’m Louis’ friend, all right? And last night I did what I’d do for any friend, you included.”

Thankfully, Liam lets it drop. 

The San are now illustrating how they catch and store water in ostrich egg shells, and the younger woman digs up a root to show how they use it to soften animal skins for their clothing. Harry would love to immerse himself in this culture, to spend several months in the bush learning how to survive. It’s a joke, though. He can’t even properly take care of himself in Africa on a tour, let alone be able to eke a living from a semi-desert, but it would be a fantastic challenge to try. To test himself, to push his boundaries. 

At the same time he’s horribly aware that the San bushmen are no longer allowed to live their lives in the desert. Their way of life has been outlawed by the government, who’ll take money from rich Americans to shoot game to display for their own glory but won’t permit the San to hunt to provide food and clothing and other living necessities for themselves and their families. It makes Harry feel sick to think about. This is what he’s helpless to do anything about. Sure, he can take pictures of these bushmen, like living exhibits in a museum to their forbidden world, but what difference will that make? Nothing at all. He might as well not be here, not photograph them. He isn’t helping them, bar the money he’ll give them at the end of the walk as a tip. 

“You all right, H?” Niall comes to stand beside him as the old man starts the process of creating fire by rubbing sticks together. “Isn’t this cool?”

Niall. Niall is who he’s actually here to photograph. Niall, who makes beautiful music that warms people’s hearts and brings joy to their lives. Harry is fiercely proud to be even a small part of that. “Yeah,” he says, in answer to both questions. 

“How’d you think I’d look in a loincloth?” Niall strikes a dramatic pose as if he’s on stage in the spotlight, not standing on the prickly sand of the Kalahari on a sunny Thursday morning. 

Harry snaps a picture of him. “You should try it. A certain section of your fans would love it.” Imagining it, he grins. “We could do a special photoshoot of you in the desert in a loincloth, what do you think? We could add it as a booklet to go with the album.”

Niall laughs and drops his pose. “Yeah, I’d love to have the confidence to walk around like they do in so little. Do you think the old guy would be willing to take a picture with me after this?”

“We can ask him.” The bushmen are clearly comfortable having their picture taken, although Harry hopes they’re not compromising any spiritual beliefs by doing this job. 

The old man looks up from his sticks, gesturing for a volunteer to give it a go. Harry nudges Niall forward. “Go on.”

“I can’t create fire,” Niall whispers, panicked. 

“Come on, Niall,” Annette calls. 

“Yeah, try it.” On Niall’s other side, Duncan gives him a push too. 

The old man grins and points for Niall to crouch down beside him. Reluctantly, Niall bends down to twirl the one stick against the other the way the man demonstrates against a bed of tangled dry grass. Harry drops to his knees so he has a better angle to photograph from, and when he checks, Liam’s filming avidly. If Niall can pull this off, it’ll be a great moment to add to their collection. 

The tension grows as Niall continues his task with no visible result.

“I see smoke,” Nicole says suddenly. “Look!”

“Fuck me.” Niall’s jaw literally drops open as he stares down at the tiny white flicker in amazement. “It’s working!”

The bushman indicates for him to keep going. Soon there’s a stable little stream of smoke and the bushman moves the sticks aside, picking up the little bundle of grass to carefully blow on it. A flame billows out and everyone cheers. One of the other men produces a bunch of dry twigs and they place the flaming grass back on the ground, balancing the sticks over them to catch fire. 

“I did that.” Niall kneels beside the flames, thunderstruck.

“You did!” Harry throws himself at him and the bushmen all laugh at the crazy celebrating foreigners who were only able to do it because the bushmen set it up to ensure it would work. Harry doesn’t care. It’s still magical. It’s still one of the best experiences of his life.

*

The logistics of breakfast and showers and packing coupled with the excitement of the bushman walk managed to keep Harry distracted, but once they settle into the truck for the four-hour drive to Maun, he can no longer ignore what happened during the night. Liam and Niall get to work on editing Liam’s video of the fire-making so they can post it when they reach Maun’s internet, and Harry tries to focus on editing some pictures to go with it but he has several brilliant ones that need almost nothing done to them so it doesn’t take very long. He leaves his laptop open in front of him as his mind drifts back to last night.

Louis truly believes that he’s a terrible person because of his grief-stricken reaction and reflexive escape. Harry ached to hear him reproach himself and it hurts even more now as he thinks it through. On one hand, he can understand why Louis’ mother might have wanted him to stay at uni and not abandon his life to spend the last few weeks of hers at her side, but didn’t she know Louis? Didn’t she realise how badly that would distress him? And the sheer unfairness of Louis not being there when she died. Harry’s sure that if they’d expected her to die that weekend Louis was meant to go home, his sister would have insisted he come anyway. What a horrible shock it must have been when it happened and Louis wasn’t there. 

It’s strange to think of Louis having a twin sister. Aren’t twins supposed to be extremely close? Louis struggles to say her name now. At least their younger siblings still have a father, and now a stepmother. They still have a family. Amy is all Louis has left, and he no longer even has her. 

Michelle.

He has Michelle. 

He still has Michelle, and Harry understands that they’ve come through something very traumatic together. She obviously offered Louis her home in South Africa as an escape and he’s drifted into a life here, a life he excels at and clearly enjoys, and is now too scared to go home again to face his siblings.

Harry thinks about them. He thinks about his own sister, just a few years older, how he adored her growing up and how devastated he’d be to lose her. Louis must have been a wonderful brother; the way he cares for his passengers is no doubt a reflection of the skills he developed with his much-younger siblings. They must miss him terribly. Harry can’t believe for one minute that they blame Louis for his flight or hold it against him. 

Maybe he can float the idea to Louis of returning to England, even if it’s just for a short visit. Harry would be happy to go with him to meet them. At the very least, he can try to persuade Louis to get in contact with them, to let them know where he is and that he’s all right. With Amy at the very least.

He still can’t believe that Louis told him, that he dropped his fierce defences and confided in Harry the secret that’s obviously ripping him up inside. 

And then he allowed Harry to comfort him.

And stayed all night.

And didn’t seem to want to leave in the morning.

Harry’s never going to forget how right last night felt with Louis in his arms. Louis, who has become far too precious to Harry in two short weeks. Louis isn’t his and can never be his, and Harry has to keep that in mind. 

The other thing to remember, which may help with rebuilding the necessary distance with Louis after last night, is that even if Louis were available and interested, he lives his life on the road in Africa while Harry is about to be tied down permanently in London. Harry will be too busy to be able to fly out very often, if at all, and Louis can’t afford to fly to London between his trips. There’s no practical way to make a relationship work. Louis doesn’t show any inclination towards wanting to settle down—and why should he? He’s brilliant at his job and it’s obvious that he loves this lifestyle. 

If Harry’s lucky, maybe he can get Louis’ number at the end of the trip so they can chat online when Louis has internet, Louis can send him pictures of where he is and tell him about his latest passengers, and they can share jokes and little tidbits about their lives. 

More realistically, they have until Nairobi and that will be it. Like a holiday romance, this is a holiday friendship.

Harry can’t let himself feel like Louis will be part of him forever. 

*

As Zayn slows down to enter a campsite on the edge of the first big town they’ve seen in Botswana, Louis bounces into their section of the truck with bright eyes and happy smiles. 

“Welcome to Maun, everybody, the gateway to the Okavango!” Yolanda, Hayley and Vicky lead an enthusiastic cheer, which Louis joins in with a whoop of his own. “Yeah, this is it, one of the biggest adventures of your trip coming right up. Tomorrow morning you will set out just after sunrise for an hour and a half’s drive into the delta to the place where you’ll meet your mokoro polers. For anyone who doesn’t know, a mokoro is a flat-bottomed canoe—traditionally constructed by hollowing out a tree, although these days they’re made of fibreglass—operated by expert guides using poles to propel you along. 

“For the next two hours you will glide through the narrow waterways between the papyrus reeds, past the waterlilies and jackalberry trees, until you’re deep in the delta, where your polers will pick an island for you to wild camp on for the night. After lunch, you can swim in the waters of the Okavango or learn how to pole a mokoro yourself. There’ll be a game walk in the late afternoon and another one at sunrise before your guides pole you back out again to return you to Maun.”

He beams at them like he’s just delivered fantastic news. “Any questions?”

“You’re not coming with us?” Harry’s question is just one of many peppering Louis all at once, but Louis looks down the aisle and meets his eyes.

“This is an add-on extra, which is why you have local guides. But don’t worry,” he adds cheerily, “they’re very good and will take excellent care of you.”

“What kind of animals are we likely to see out there?” Hayley repeats her question more loudly and Louis looks away to answer her. 

“This is how it works, H,” Liam says when Harry turns around to glare out of his window at the large leafy trees Zayn’s parking Rafiki beneath. 

“I know.” But he doesn’t have to like it. Does this mean that Louis has never floated through the papyrus reeds of the Okavango? He stops here a half dozen times a year and has never boarded a mokoro or experienced the beauty of the delta for himself?

Louis’ upbeat voice as he answers everyone else’s questions would imply that it doesn’t bother him, but Harry’s seen behind Louis’ professional mask now. There’s far more to Louis than merely the cheerful, efficient tour leader he presents to the world. 

“Don’t say anything,” Liam warns. “He’s not here on holiday, this is his job.”

A fucking unfair job, if anyone wants Harry’s opinion. But maybe Louis has gone before. Maybe he’s been so many times he’s tired of it now and prefers to stay in this pretty campsite and have some time alone to recuperate from the stress of taking care of so many people twenty-four hours a day for weeks on end. Who is Harry to decide that he shouldn’t?

“If you have any more questions,” Louis is saying up at the front, “you’re welcome to ask me during lunch, which we’ll have right after you set up your tents. This afternoon is free. Zayn will take Rafiki into town to fill her up, and he’ll stay there for a couple of hours. This is your chance to do some souvenir shopping, stock up on water—we recommend at least one five-litre bottle per person to take with you into the delta, since there are no facilities out there—or just wander around to see what a Botswanan town looks like.”

With that, it’s the usual camp arrival free-for-all as people rush to escape the truck and grab their tents so they can pick the best spots to erect them. Harry prefers to wait until the chaos is over, much to Liam’s annoyance, since he doesn’t care where his tent goes. By the time he climbs down from the truck, Louis has his tables set up and is preparing to make Mexican salad for lunch. He glances up as Harry shoulders his tent and gives Harry a sparkly smile and jaunty wave. 

“You going into town after lunch, Haz?”

Don’t say anything about the Okavango trip, don’t say anything about— “You’re not coming.” The words were supposed to be: _No, Liam’s going while Niall and I write_ , damn it. Harry wants to smack himself. 

Louis’ bright face doesn’t change. “I’m going in tomorrow while you lot are on your expedition.”

“No. I meant you’re not coming on the expedition.”

“Harry!”

Still smiling, Louis points to where Liam’s calling him from beneath a tree in the distance. “Looks like Liam wants you.”

Liam’s trying to interrupt, is what he’s doing, and he’s right and Harry is wrong but he can’t stop himself. “Have you been before?”

“Sure.”

But Louis glances away as he says it, and Harry can’t leave it there. “Are you lying?”

Louis sighs and turns to pick up some tomatoes. “Take some nice pictures for me, yeah? Maybe a video or two when you’re on the mokoro. It’s meant to be amazing.”

 _Meant to be_. Meaning he doesn’t know for himself. “Okay.” There’s nothing else Harry can say. “Have a nice day off in Maun.”

“It won’t be the same,” Louis says, “without my shadow following me across town.”

Like in Swakopmund on Louis’ last official day off. If Harry were here on his own, not here on a job with Niall and Liam, he’d offer to stay and to hell with mokoros and the Okavango Delta. 

“Don’t tell anyone, yeah?” Louis’ voice drops, sounding more like he did last night, more like real Louis instead of tour leader Louis. “What I said last night.”

“I haven’t. I won’t. ” He needs Louis to understand this. “I wouldn’t.”

“I do love them, you know.”

“I know.”

Louis looks down at the sack of tomatoes in his hands, turns them over and fiddles with the fastening. “You’d better get your tent set up.”

“Yeah.” Harry picks up the bag he’d let rest at his feet and tosses it back over his shoulder, but he can’t make himself walk away. Then he remembers the one thing he has to give Louis. “The blue hoodie,” he says. “Keep it. It’s yours.”

“Harry, I can’t—”

“Please.” It’s all he can offer. “Looks better on you than me, anyway.”

“I doubt that,” Louis scoffs. 

“Trust me.”

“All right.” With a solemn nod, Louis reaches over to brush his fingers over the back of Harry’s hand. “I do, you know. Trust you.”

“I trust you too, Lou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	15. Chapter 15

**Day 15 - Louis**

**Maun, Botswana**

Louis deliberately wears Harry’s hoodie to breakfast. Dawn’s only just breaking and it’s cold, so he has reason to wear it, but it’s more the message he wants to send Harry.

_I know I’m not going with you, but part of you will be with me._

_I won’t be alone_.

A dumb message, perhaps, possibly a message Harry won’t even understand, but Louis thinks he will after the way he offered it last night. Harry doesn’t need to know that Louis slept wearing it, pretending that for a second night in a row he had Harry’s warm arms wrapped around him. That’s just for Louis (and Zayn, who rolled his eyes but didn’t tell him off) to know. 

The troubled frown crinkling Harry’s brow when he turns up for breakfast smooths away when he sees Louis. “Good morning,” he says, voice husky with sleep like it was in the hut. “You look nice.”

Louis looks down at himself admiringly. “I do, don’t I? It’s amazing what clothes can do for a man.”

Harry actually giggles. 

Louis lets himself giggle too. Harry’s curls are a mess, falling all over his face, bouncing as he laughs. “Where’s your headscarf, Haz?”

“Too hot. It’s different wearing them here than in England.”

Ah, there’s an idea for a birthday present he can look for in town for Harry. He reaches out to tug one of the curls. 

“ _Beep beep!_ I’m a toy,” Harry says seriously. “Pull different curls for different sounds.”

Louis can’t resist. He tries another one.

“ _Whoo_ ,” Harry says.

Louis tries a third.

“ _Aaahoooaaa_.”

“You’re gonna regret this,” Louis says, laughing. “Because now I want to try every single one, just to see what sound you’ll make.”

“You can. Any time you want.”

That’s a dangerous offer. “When you get back with my pictures,” he says, because it’s too tempting and they’re in public and Harry’s eyes are turning dark with something Louis doesn’t want to recognise, “I want a selfie, yeah? Of you on the mokoro. You can tuck your curls up in a cap, don’t forget. It’s very sunny out there, no shade.”

“I have my sunscreen too.”

“I can see.” Harry’s face glistens with his liberal application of it. Louis gives in to the temptation to reach up and pat his sticky cheek. “Good boy.”

Harry’s eyes flare and Louis steps back. Shit, how could they spend an entire night in bed together perfectly innocently but can’t have an innocuous conversation in public over the kettle? 

Harry seems to follow his thoughts, because he blinks several times very quickly then picks up a mug. “Do you have any plans for your free time?” he asks as he starts to make his coffee.

Louis shrugs. “Bit of shopping, bit of sleeping. I’ll do a provision run in the morning before you guys return, but today I’ll mostly do nothing.”

“Any friends to catch up with here?”

Besides Michelle? She was a lot friendlier when he called her last night from the bar, more relaxed, more like the fun-loving, amusing girl he fell in love with in Manchester than she’s been in a long time. Because he didn’t want to affect the mood, he didn’t bring up the idea of Zanzibar but kept it light and funny, entertaining her with details of their mishaps along the road so far, especially the day of the truck breaking down. She can’t believe Michael is still on the tour and hasn’t quit yet, even less that he seems to have mellowed after all his early complaining. Louis has caught him enjoying himself several times now and is starting to hope he’ll make it all the way to Kenya. 

But Harry doesn’t want to hear about Michelle, and that’s not what he meant.

“I usually catch up with a lot of other tour guides in Maun,” he says, answering what Harry wanted to know. “There are always a number of them passing through and after five years I know most of them.”

Harry takes a sip of his too-hot coffee. “I guess this is your social life, in this business.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that who you and Zayn were with last night at the bar?”

“You were there?” Louis hadn’t seen him.

“We just went for a quick drink quite late to celebrate finishing two more songs.”

“How many do you have so far now?”

“Fifteen, although a couple won’t go much further. I’d say we have three that are, like, very strong contenders for the final album, and maybe another two or three that could be with some more work.”

“You do realise I’m going to require a concert from you lot before this tour is over? I want to hear every single one, album contender or not, yeah?”

“Niall will be delighted. He never turns down a chance to perform.”

“You should sing with him, Haz. Like that song you sang for me in Swakop. It was beautiful.”

“It’s Niall’s song, though.”

“But this is my tour.” Louis puts a hurt look on his face, delighting in Harry’s immediate consternation. “I believe I have a right to decree who sings at my concert.”

“Is that right?” Harry says, not looking at all convinced.

“Does Liam sing too?”

“He’s not bad. You want him, also, to perform?”

“Yes,” Louis decides. “All three of you. So get practising. You’ll have an opportunity tonight in the delta. The local guides usually sing some traditional songs for you after dinner and then they ask you to sing for them. Most groups fail miserably, I’ve heard, but I’m counting on you to give them the best show they’ve ever had.”

“Not many people can say they’ve played the Okavango Delta,” Harry muses. “Niall will like that. Does that mean he should take his guitar?”

“Sure, yeah, the mokoro people will make sure it’s safe on the water.”

Harry drains his cup of coffee, then catches Louis’ eyes. “Wish you could be there, though.”

Louis doesn’t mean to, but he says, “Me too.”

“I’ll film it for you. And we’ll do a special concert just for you at the end of the tour. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Now get on with your breakfast, you’re holding everyone up.”

*

After Louis accepted the fact that he was never going to see the Okavango, he’s always loved the moment of waving everyone off on their safari truck. This ritual signifies the start of a day and a half to himself, not even having to be available in case anyone has any need of him. As usual, the first thing he does is return to his tent for some more sleep since the sun is barely up, but all too soon, Zayn is shaking him awake. 

“Louis, Louis! If you want to go to town, I’m leaving in five. Otherwise you have to make your own way in.”

There are plenty of taxis around Maun, relatively cheap for foreign tourists but an unforgivable waste of money for Louis, especially when he has birthday presents to buy. Fortunately he showered last night when he left the bar, using cold water to try and sober himself up so he wouldn’t be tempted to accidentally crawl into the wrong tent. That night in Harry’s arms was too comforting and Louis hates how wrong it feels to sleep on his own again. Knowing how cuddly Louis is, Zayn always insists on keeping their bags in between their mattresses in their tent so Louis can’t clamp onto him while they sleep, a precaution Louis is grateful for because he wouldn’t want to force himself on someone, but he resents what it means. 

He hates to sleep alone. 

And Harry’s made it even worse with all his comforting arms and body heat and soothing heart beating right beneath Louis’ ear. 

Midmorning is too hot to wear his hoodie, so Louis slings on a Serengeti t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts and calls himself ready to go, jumping up into his seat beside Zayn with ten seconds to spare. Niall’s album is playing, still programmed in after Louis played it nonstop all the way from Ghanzi yesterday to prevent Zayn from questioning him about his previous night’s activities. It’s not his usual fare, but he loves it, and he passed the drive trying to guess which songs Harry was responsible for, which words were his. All of it is romantic and soulful, could be overpowering if not sung with Niall’s light touch, and now that Louis is learning a bit about how the three of them work together, he knows there could be entire songs on there that are solely Harry’s words. He wants to know which ones.

He also wants to find Harry the perfect gift. It can’t be anything big—number one, Louis can’t afford that, but number two, it’s something Harry will have to drag with him across Africa for the next month—but he wants it to be meaningful. Harry’s an emotional kind of person, he finds meaning in everything, so Louis has to choose carefully to ensure he sends the right message.

He shouldn’t be buying Harry a gift at all. 

He’s never bought a gift for any other passenger.

But he buys gifts for Zayn every January and Zayn’s a friend and so is Harry. Neither of them can pretend Harry’s just a passenger, especially after the night in Ghanzi, so Louis feels like he has a right to buy him a birthday present. 

He’s definitely going to find a light summery scarf for him to use in his hair. From what Louis can tell, Harry brought three scarves with him to Africa and they’re all made from thick, strong material that will become even more unpleasant to wear the closer to the equator they get. Maybe he should look for something green, to match Harry’s eyes, the way Harry’s hoodie matches his own eyes. That’s the kind of thing Harry would notice and appreciate, Louis thinks. 

But what other kind of gift? He has no idea what Harry likes in his everyday life. His tastes seem simple from what Louis’ observed, but that could be because he’s on a camping trip. For all Louis knows, back in England Harry wears designer gear and expensive leather boots and fancy suits that each cost ten times Louis’ annual salary. Harry doesn’t seem to worry about money much, he clearly has enough to go off for months with Liam and Niall, and they’re not stinting on extra activities the way many of Louis’ passengers have to. There’s no point in Louis trying to impress him with something extravagant. He can’t. 

He’ll have to settle for cheap and symbolic. 

Maun isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis. Well, it is for the country of Botswana, which is mostly bushes and mud huts and wandering cows and donkeys, but it doesn’t offer the most wonderful selection of potential gifts for a future lawyer.

Does Harry like art? There are plenty of art shops around Maun. Louis follows Zayn into the one where he exhibits and hopes to sell his own paintings. Shit, they’re expensive. Does Zayn sell many? Louis has no idea. Maybe he’s sold dozens at these exorbitant prices and he’s just waiting until he has enough saved up to leave Louis and retire on the coast to paint full time. If Louis had the money, he would definitely pay prices like these for Zayn’s art. He manages a funky modern interpretation of African scenery that Louis doesn’t see reflected anywhere else, even after he tries another few art shops for comparison. Nothing like Zayn’s work and nothing that jumps out to him as representative of Harry in any fashion. 

The Craft Centre offers pottery fired on site, but that won’t be easy for Harry to transport, nor will the woven baskets that predominate the craft scene across Africa. He comes across notebooks, handmade from recycled paper mixed with elephant dung. That might appeal to Harry, the conservation side of it—or would a lawyer in England be embarrassed to be showing off elephant dung paper? Louis buys it anyway, it’s affordable, and he thinks it’ll give Harry a laugh, if nothing else. 

But it’s not enough. He needs more. 

In the Bushman Curio shop he finds lamps made of ostrich shells with shapes carved into them to let the light through, silhouettes of hunting bushmen, acacia trees and African animals. One Louis likes outlines the continents in pinpricks of light. His other favourite traces out stars and a sickle moon. They’re big, though, and delicate. Not easy for Harry to transport. 

One day when Louis has a house he’s going to come back here and buy some of these. Some of the wall hangings too, perhaps, like the one with a scene of the Kalahari bush and a lone acacia tree. Wherever he ends up living, these years traversing Africa will always be dear to his heart. The vast deserts and savannahs of southern Africa offered him solace when breathing hurt too much, spread out before him as a welcoming home after he lost his own. Everything was so different to England, nothing sparked any painful memory of childhood, and he’s been completely free here to let go of boyhood attachments and learn how to be a man, independent and strong.

It’s not something he’s thought about before, but he finds himself contemplating his own progress as he wanders past a stand offering tourists the delicacy of dried mopane worms to eat. It’s happened so gradually that he didn’t notice, but he’s developed proficiency and expertise in a variety of areas he never expected to, growing up. He’s taken his natural ease with people and turned it into an advanced skill in people management. He can cater for large groups under almost any circumstances, and has perfected his ingenuity with a restricted budget and shops whose provisions can never be depended on. In the early days he felt like he was constantly floundering, always terrified someone would demand something of him he was unequal to, but it’s been years since he worried about coping on the ground. He can out-negotiate the toughest border official, charm the most intransigent guards at a police blockade, adjudicate with ease personality clashes between fiery passengers.

He, Louis Tomlinson, has conquered every challenge Africa has thrown at him and has emerged victorious and empowered. 

Fuck.

If only his mother could see him now. She’d be so fucking proud of him.

For the first time, thinking of her doesn’t hurt. In a tiny little buried cavern of his heart, he’s spent five years feeling ashamed of himself for running, for deserting the career she’d wanted for him so badly she’d chosen that for him above sharing her precious final days and hours together, but he knows she’d be proud of what he’s done with these years, of the man he’s become. He used to be lazy, self-centred, rarely bothered to try very hard at anything because a mediocre effort gave him sufficient success for him not to bother with more. None of those qualities have survived the searing demands of Africa. 

He can’t think about his sisters yet, or the twins. He hasn’t done right by them and he’s not yet in a place where he can confront that, but his mother, yeah, it suddenly feels like she’s right here with him, ambling through the dusty streets of summertime Maun, and he can feel the love that would be burning in her eyes for him. 

_Your mother loved you very much_ , Harry said in the bushman hut.

She did. 

He ends up splurging on a Nando’s burger and chips, his own personal celebration of sorts. A group of young Canadians invite him to join them. They’re celebrating themselves. They’ve travelled overland by sketchy public transport from Kenya and today is their final day in Africa before returning home to snowy Toronto. They’ve survived, just like he has, and he listens to their stories and affirms their success and feels like he’s affirming his own.

Two hours later, he returns to his Harry quest, buoyed by jubilation. On the very next block he finds a stand of gorgeous silky scarves. He can have three for the price of two, the vendor promises him, and why not? Harry will need more than one. He negotiates enough that both parties are left satisfied, and picks a green one with golden brown wound through it like Harry’s curls, one that matches the sky blue shade of the hoodie he gave Louis, and one that’s a delicate mix of shades from aqua to turquoise. Harry will look spectacular wearing every one.

He’s still not happy with the elephant dung notebook, though, so he checks out the last few curio shops with a sense of urgency. In the final one, he sees it. 

It’s a wood carving, a giraffe carved from ebony, if he’s not mistaken. Its eyes catch him first, bright and round and curious, just like Harry’s. He starts to laugh as he takes in the rest of it, all long neck and endless legs, looking as though it’s not sure what to do with them, but instead of panicking, it’s delighted. Its mouth even captures Harry’s habitual smirk when he’s amused. 

This is it. Without a doubt, this is it. He couldn’t have imagined anything more perfect.

It’s a little more pricey than he’d have liked, but that’s okay. He was planning to get drunk tonight with the other tour guides at the camp bar, but he can drink water and that will cover some of it. If he stays away from alcohol and snacks for the rest of the trip, he’ll be fine. 

As he cadges a lift back to the campgrounds with another driver he knows, he wonders how Harry’s enjoying the delta. It’s late afternoon. They’ll be on their first game walk across the islands. Hopefully Harry is loving it and he’s getting great footage of Niall and hasn’t forgotten to take a few pictures for Louis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	16. Chapter 16

**Day 16 - Harry**

**The Okavango Delta and Maun, Botswana**

Harry wakes up annoyed. He was too hot and sticky to sleep well, such a contrast to the cold of Ghanzi, and it’s his twenty-third birthday and he’s in the heart of the Okavango Delta and he should be in bliss right now and he isn’t and it’s all wrong. Irritated, he turns on the camera that’s barely left his hand since their departure from Maun, switches it on and focuses it on his grumpy, dirty face.

“This is not a good morning,” he announces. “I would say good morning, but it’s not. It’s just a morning that should be special and isn’t.” Because Louis isn’t here.

It’s bad. It’s really bad that he feels this upset the first time he wakes without knowing he’s about to see Louis. At least he’ll see him this afternoon, but what’s Harry going to do when he wakes up after his overnight flight on that British Airways plane from Nairobi to a life on the opposite side of the world from Louis?

It just makes him more frustrated and he glares at the camera.

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” Liam and Niall burst through his door, barely unzipping it enough to throw themselves all over him. “Happy birthday, dearest Harry, happy birthday to you!”

They cover him with elaborate kisses and cuddles and Harry starts laughing despite himself. “You guys are too much! Get off me, you stink!”

“So do you,” Liam says unapologetically. 

This is what comes of camping wild in this heat. They dug the toilet themselves between some low bushes and no one wants to waste their drinking water to use as a shower. Maybe Harry shouldn’t have tried poling mokoros yesterday, because the remnants of river water and mud left him filthy.

Niall ruffles Harry’s damp curls and leans in for a final kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday, birthday boy.”

God, Harry loves these two. “You’re the best friends a birthday boy could wish for,” he assures them and gathers them in for a big group hug. “Love you, guys.”

“Love you too, H.” Liam squeezes him so tightly he can’t breathe. “We thought about bringing you breakfast in bed, but it’s much cooler out there so you’ll probably enjoy it more if you get up.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Give me a minute to put some clothes on.” 

He’s taken to sleeping in his underwear in case he needs to answer a call of nature during the night and forgets to put something on, so at least he’s not indecent. Liam and Niall are used to seeing him half-naked, so they just roll their eyes and tumble out again as quickly as they arrived, Liam rezipping the doorway to give Harry privacy to dress. 

It’s only after he’s pulled on fresh underwear that he realises his camera is still filming. Fuck knows what it captured. He’d better edit it a bit before handing it over to Louis when they get back.

Despite his mood, it’s still pretty fantastic to clamber out of his tent to see the waters of the Okavango gliding by just a few feet away. This was originally one of the places he most wanted to see on the trip and here he is in the midst of it all. 

If he’s honest, yesterday was a dream. Harry’s gone to meditation classes but nothing came close to matching the serenity of being poled through the delta, brushing past wet papyrus reeds just as Louis promised, in between enormous water lilies the size of his hand. He ended up sharing a mokoro with Nathan, but even Nathan fell silent, awestruck by the glory of the experience.

Harry filmed for almost the entire two hours they spent on the water. Sometimes he filmed Niall and Liam in the mokoro nearest him, making sure he got sufficient footage for an Instagram video later, sometimes he got himself in the picture, but mostly he balanced the camera against his chest as he sprawled back and let it film exactly what he could see and hear. It’s the closest he can give Louis to experiencing it for himself.

Arriving on their island was an anticlimax after that, but lunch revived everyone and the afternoon was a riot of padding out through the mud amongst the reeds to the place the guides showed them was an adequate swimming hole and trying to learn how to pole mokoros. Their polers, elegant and relaxed, made it look simple, but Harry splashed into the muddy waters several times when he tried to pole Liam around and Niall wasn’t much better. 

Viewing wild animals on foot instead of from a safari vehicle was vastly satisfying, but it was somewhat alarming when their excursion began with a list of intricate instructions. In the case of coming face to face with a lion, make direct eye contact, don’t break it, and back slowly away, never turn your back or run. If it’s a leopard, however, never make direct eye contact and don’t move at all. Don’t move for an elephant, but run like mad from a buffalo and climb the nearest tree. Most disturbing of all was the discovery that the most dangerous animal to humans in Africa is the hippopotamus, even though they’re vegetarian. The guides’ best advice with regard to hippos? Avoid them. Harry is extremely on board with that idea, and he’s still a little apprehensive about the mokoro ride back out of the delta after hearing that a hippo can chop a human in half with a single bite.

After all that build-up, it was disappointing to only see a few zebra and buck on their walk, a small family of warthogs, and a single elephant in the distance. Harry wasn’t too sad, though. He’d rather see nothing than see something far too close up and about to end his life. 

It was the evening when he most missed Louis. Dinner felt wrong when none of them were allowed to help make it or even clean up, when he couldn’t go and interrogate Louis about the ingredients and cooking methods, but most of all he missed Louis’ bright laugh dominating the general hum of conversation. Niall made the most of the evening concert, learning some of the local songs much to the delight of their guides, then performing some of his own songs before leading the rest of the group in a very successful singalong. Harry lurked on the edge and filmed most of the show, it only occurring to him afterwards how loud his voice would be when he joined in the singing. 

More to edit out?

He kind of doesn’t want to edit any of it, wants Louis to experience the whole day minute by minute, but of course Louis won’t be interested in that. He’ll probably skip most of it anyway. 

Their morning game walk doesn’t reveal much more, although there are some very cute giraffes that make Harry think of Louis’ comment at Etosha and their play fight that followed. He zooms in for some closeups and comments to his video, “Seeing these makes me miss you. Three guesses as to why.”

“Are you making a video for someone back home, Harry?” Rolf asks, overhearing what Harry meant to be private. 

Someone back in Maun. “Yes,” Harry replies, because what else can he say. 

“You have a girlfriend? A boyfriend?”

Gratified that Rolf didn’t assume, Harry lowers his camera. “No boyfriend. Well, there would be if it were up to me, but it’s not.”

“I’m sorry.” Rolf pats his arm awkwardly. “I hope things work out for you and this man.”

They won’t, they can’t, but Harry smiles his thanks for the sentiment. “He’s very special,” he can’t help saying. 

He isn’t sorry when the time comes to head back to their mokoros. This time he shares with Niall, since Liam’s got into a conversation with Nathan about Instagram influencers and doesn’t want to interrupt it. Harry’s pleased to be the lead mokoro for the trip back so he can pretend he’s the only one out here, just him drifting alone between the reeds. It’s later in the day than when they came yesterday, the sun is higher and far hotter, so he dangles his fingers in the passing water and imagines Louis joining him, lying between Harry’s legs, resting against his chest where he belongs.

Hey, it’s Harry’s birthday and he’s entitled to a fantasy on his birthday, surely, especially a platonic one. His mind keeps wandering back to the night in the bushman hut and how right it felt, just that, just Louis in his arms. At least he had that. He got one night.

It’s more than he ever expected.

The ride back in the safari truck takes forever. Harry falls asleep despite the bouncing, worn out after his restless night, and only jolts awake when they enter the campground where Louis is waiting for them. He has the tables set out beneath the trees and he’s making lunch, frying sausages and buttering fresh rolls. Harry wants to bound over to him but he’s conscious of his filth, of the river stench on him, so instead he waves awkwardly and sidles off to rush through a shower. 

There’s no time to catch up with Louis over lunch. It’s a hurried affair, since they were late back and he, Liam, Niall and several others have a scenic flight over the delta booked for two o’clock. It’s finally Harry’s official cooking day and he’s already missed making two meals. What kind of a birthday is this?

But Louis’ laughter is there, right where it should be, soaring above the rest of the conversation as people eat, and Harry can look across the circle as he stuffs his hotdog into his mouth and meet his sparkly eyes and everything feels better. 

“Have a great time, guys,” Louis calls when their ride arrives to convey them to the airport. “Haz, pictures!”

“Definitely!” he shouts back. 

It doesn’t turn out that way. 

The plane is a little eight-seater. “This’ll be fun,” Liam declares as they cross the tarmac to board, and Harry agrees right up until the moment he enters the plane. The thunder of the engine blasts through his head and when the door is closed the sensation of air being cut off is excruciating. Sweat pours down his back as they taxi along the runway to take off, leaving him wishing for one of his scarves to soak it up so it doesn’t also run down his face. It’ll be worth it, he tells himself. Once they’re up in the air, it’ll cool down a bit and the spectacular views will make the roaring engine fade into the background.

As soon as they take off, he knows he needs to get out. The plane swoops through the air and his stomach lurches—fuck, he can’t be sick. If only he hadn’t had two hotdogs. But he did have them and he’s trapped up here for the next hour. The plane isn’t going down again, he can’t get out mid-air, but he can’t breathe and sweat’s sliding into his eyes and his stomach won’t stay in one place as the pilot turns from side to side to give them better views.

The Okavango Delta is down there. Harry’s meant to be photographing it. 

He turns on the camera, grips it with clenched fingers, has no idea if it’s even pointing at his face. “I can’t,” he says. “Sorry. I—I’m—I can’t.”

Liam’s filming opposite him out his own window, looking as excited as a little boy on Christmas. Niall whoops behind them, voice barely audible over the engine. Rolf and Annette are in front, both taking pictures with delight, same with Carlie, Michael and Vicky.

Harry risks a glance out the window—and, shit, no, don’t do that!

He starts counting. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes and they’ll be back on the ground again and this hell will stop. He loses track. How many sixties has he counted to? How long does a second take? Ten. He can count to ten. Just ten, over and over again, eyes tightly closed, tiny little breaths because if he takes any more he’s going to throw up. 

Dizziness overwhelms him. If he passes out, will he still throw up? Why won’t everything just stop moving!

Count down instead. Ten is too much. Nine, eight, seven, much better, six, five, please let this end soon, four, five—no, four, three, one—two, one, two, one, two, one, two, one—

“Harry. Harry, we’ve landed.”

Liam’s face. Worried brown eyes. Harry’s on the tarmac again, cool breeze, stumbling away from the screaming engine. Why isn’t he feeling better?

“Harry, are you going to be sick?”

He has no idea. His body is in full revolt, the airport whirling around him like the reeds on the mokoro earlier—the memory of the sensation of bobbing along in the water makes it worse. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“Home.”

He’s aware of only flashes after that. The minivan from earlier. Lying down. The green of Niall’s t-shirt. Dusty wind choking his throat. Voices. Movement. Cold tile and a toilet and a vicious yanking out of his insides.

“You’re okay, Haz, I promise, it’s all right. Just get everything out, you’ll feel better.”

A cool hand on his back. Louis’ voice. 

Louis.

Louis is here.

“Lou,” he gasps.

“Yeah, love, it’s me. Are you done now? All empty?” 

The overwhelming nausea has receded. The room around him is still, keeping its place, and he shudders in a long, broken breath. 

“That’s good, love, yeah, get some oxygen inside you. The boys said you weren’t breathing on the way back.”

“I’d vomit,” Harry croaks. “Couldn’t.”

“It’s okay now though, yeah? It’s all over. You’re safe.”

“’m not panicking,” he says crossly. “Airsick.”

“And you’re safe on the ground,” Louis says, undeterred. “No more flying. No moving. Nice and still and safe, Haz.”

And mortified, Harry realises, as the reality starts to dawn on him of what’s happening. He scrambles away from the toilet, wiping his mouth, which tastes disgusting. 

“Don’t move too fast,” Louis cautions as Harry surges to his feet and dizziness sweeps through him. 

“’m fine.” How can he tell Louis to go away and leave him to his cringing misery?

Because he doesn’t, Louis puts an arm around him and helps him over to the sink to wash the chilled sweat off his face. He also produces a bottle of clean water for Harry to rinse his mouth. 

“How’s your stomach feeling now, love?”

Blissfully empty. “Okay.” 

“Any cramps?”

“No.”

Louis places a hand against Harry’s forehead. “You were really cold earlier but you feel more normal now. Any more shivers?”

“No.”

“Too hot?”

“In the plane. Not now.”

“How’s your head? Does it hurt?”

“In the plane,” Harry repeats. “Not now. I’m fine now, Louis.” He pushes Louis’ hand away. “I was just airsick and there wasn’t enough oxygen, but I’m okay. Really.”

Louis nods, his eyes still running over Harry assessingly. “Take some more deep breaths for me.”

“I’m fine!”

“Breathe. Deeply.”

Harry does, exaggerating the depth. It floods oxygen through his veins, momentarily increasing his light-headedness, but he breathes slowly out like in meditation class and all the little pinpricks of light at the edge of his vision fade away. 

“Again.”

He breathes in properly this time. To his relief, there’s no corresponding lurch from his stomach. He really is okay again. Just embarrassed as hell and desperate to disappear.

“That feel all right?” Louis asks.

“Yes.” Harry can’t look at him. “I’m fine. All better.”

Louis hands him the bottle of water again. “Drink all of this, not too fast, but get it down because you’ll be dehydrated.”

“I will.” Harry takes it from him, gulps down a couple of mouthfuls. It helps. 

“Let’s get you back to your tent now, if you don’t think you’ll be sick again.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay.” Louis’ hand rests gently on his back, turning him to face the door. “We don’t need to go fast. Your body’s been through a traumatic experience, you know? So let’s just go slowly back to your tent so you can lie down and rest.”

He knows Louis doesn’t mean to be condescending, he’s just trying to take care of him, but Harry can’t bear it. “I can go by myself.”

“No.” Louis’ voice is implacable. “You’re still shaky, I can see. Put your arm over my shoulders so you can hold onto me, if you don’t want me to touch you.”

It isn’t that. He does want Louis to touch him, to hold him, but he’s soiled and disgusting and why would Louis even want to?

“I need to take another shower,” he says. “Please, Lou. All that sweat—I need to shower.”

Louis surveys him, then nods. “Let me get your stuff for you. Or I’ll ask Liam to get it, if you prefer.”

Harry does prefer, but on the other hand, now that Louis is doing what he wanted and leaving him alone, he wants Louis back as soon as possible. “You.”

“Okay. Get in the shower and I’ll be back with your towel and soap and some clean clothes—you sent them to the laundry here, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent.”

The shower helps. The cold water is a shock and feels like it’s waking him up from a hazy dream. Was he really that ill in the aeroplane? He’s not used to getting motion sickness of any kind. But nor is he used to heat and humidity like this on top of not sleeping all night and only now he realises he hardly drank anything today, too annoyed to remember to take care of himself. So silly, so unnecessary. Such a waste of money for the flight that he barely saw anything from. He should have sent Louis in his place, then at least Louis could have seen the Okavango from the air. 

“Haz?” A hand appears around the curtain holding a small bottle. “Soap for you. I have your towel here, and some clothes. Let me know when you need your towel.”

He soaps himself quickly, rinses off, lets the water pound down for another minute or so over his head, then turns it off. “Towel, please.”

Louis holds it out around the edge of the curtain. 

Harry pats his skin dry, relieved when bending down doesn’t make him woozy again, and wraps the towel into a turban around his hair. “Clothes?”

It’s his Pink Floyd t-shirt with black underwear and cargo shorts. He tries not to blush as he puts them on, thinking about Louis’ hands sorting through his clothes to choose these for him. Did Louis choose these for a reason? Does he like Pink Floyd? Is he showing silent support by picking the shirt Harry brought with a rainbow? Did he notice Harry’s tattoo of the same design? Or did he merely grab the shirt that was on top of the pile returned by the camp laundry service?

He’s still damp, but feeling very much better when he pulls open the curtain. Louis straightens from where he’s leaning against the opposite wall. 

“Hey, Haz. Feeling better?”

“A lot.”

“Excellent.” Louis studies his face. “You look better. You were so pale when they brought you back and you couldn’t focus your eyes.”

Harry can’t control the blush that heats his face. “Sorry,” he says awkwardly.

“No, don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong; you were sick.”

“I didn’t drink water. I was distracted this morning and I forgot and didn’t drink anything all day. And I didn’t sleep last night. So.” He shrugs. “That probably all contributed.”

“I won’t tell you you’re wrong, but you’re good now, yeah? I brought a second bottle of water for you. Sounds like you need it.”

“I do. I’ll drink it.”

“Good. Right, are you ready to return to your tent now? Liam and Niall put it up in some shade, so it’ll be nice and cool for you to rest in.”

Liam and Niall. God, they must have been worried about him. 

This time he easily drapes his arm over Louis’ strong shoulders and is glad for the support when they step out into the sun. “Did you see all the termite mounds out there?” Louis asks, gesturing at the ten-foot sandy spire right outside the door. 

“Is that what those are? Termites create those? They’re everywhere.”

“Yeah. They have to build their homes above ground here because the water is so close to the surface underneath, that’s why they’re so massive.”

“Termites and cockroaches are the only things that will survive a nuclear war,” Harry tells him. “At least that’s what scientists say. Don’t know that they’ve ever tested it.”

“At least the termites will be here to rebuild the world. Not so sure about the usefulness of cockroaches, though.”

“They’re recyclers. As in, they eat waste and turn it into nutrition, so that’s something.” Harry’s not a fan, but he read an article once that helped him come to terms with the ugliness of something like a cockroach existing in the world. “They’ve also helped scientists learn how to design better prosthetics, and they make their own antibiotics.”

“Cockroaches are a street food delicacy in Thailand, I’ve heard,” Louis says as they approach the tents. “You’ll have to try some when you go.”

“Only if you do first,” Harry counters. 

Louis grins at him. “Hundred percent.”

“You will?”

“Of course. It’s all part of the fun, isn’t it? Especially if it means I get to watch you eat them too.”

Harry suppresses a shudder, but he knows he’s glowing, just a little, at the insinuation that they’ll visit Thailand together. Louis’ thinking about them in the future, knowing each other, doing things together.

“Harry!” Liam pops his head out of his and Niall’s tent at the sound of their voices. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Reflexively he wipes his mouth again. “Thanks for getting me back.”

“No problem, man. I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were ill while we were flying.”

“You couldn’t have done anything. I wouldn’t have wanted the flight to be cut short just for me.” 

“Are you okay now? Do you have food poisoning? Are you ill—”

“I’m fine. Was just airsick.”

“He was dehydrated,” Louis puts in. “Happens to the best of us. Nothing a little rest and a lot of water won’t cure.”

Niall leans out of the tent door too. “We put your tent in total shade, H.”

“Thank you.” Harry tries not to feel pathetic and useless. “Thanks for taking care of me, everyone.”

“That’s how it works out here,” Louis says breezily. He bends down to unzip Harry’s tent. “Have a lie down and I’ll open your windows for you so you can get plenty of fresh air.”

If Harry was the kind of person who liked being fussed over, this would feel lovely. Instead he feels awkward and embarrassed and incompetent. “Thank you.”

“No worries, lad.”

 _Lad_. He preferred _love_. 

Liam crouches in front of Harry’s tent. “Niall and I were planning to edit some videos from yesterday and this morning while we can get electricity at the bar, but we can stay here with you if you prefer.”

“No.” Harry definitely does not prefer. “I’ll be fine here. I’ll probably just sleep. Go and work. You got good stuff from the plane, right?”

“Looks like it. You’ll have to have a look later, when it won’t make you nauseous.”

“Show Louis too.”

“Show me what?” Louis appears behind him in the doorway. 

“The video we took on the plane of the delta, since Harry was too ill to see any of it.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Niall says, joining them, “didn’t you take a bunch of videos yesterday for Louis? He was filming constantly,” he tells Louis. “H, your laptop is still charged from Windhoek, so you could probably download them to show Louis now.”

“I’m sure Louis is busy.” Harry wants nothing more. “He’s wasted enough time on me this afternoon.”

“Actually, I’m free until dinner so I have a couple of hours. Besides, I’d rather keep an eye on you and it’s easier to do from here.”

“Great.” Niall slaps Louis on the back with a grin. “In that case we’ll leave Harry in your capable hands.” With that, he and Liam head off to the bar in the centre of the campground, leaving them alone together. 

Louis kneels down in the entryway to Harry’s tent. “You don’t need to show me if you don’t feel up to it, Haz. I can wait.”

Is this Louis not being that interested, really? “If you have things to do—”

“No!” Louis shakes his head. “I’m dying to see what you took, but if you need to rest then that’s more important.”

“I can give you my camera so you can download it onto your laptop, if you prefer. Then you can watch it whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“I don’t have a laptop.”

Louis doesn’t have a laptop? “Oh.”

“It’s okay, I can wait until you feel better. Your recovery is more important. Let me go get some bananas for you for when you feel like you can eat again.”

Before Harry can speak, Louis darts off. He’s not sure how to feel. Does Louis want to see the videos now but he’s just worrying about Harry’s health or is he politely trying to get out of it? Harry can’t tell. Either way, he digs out his camera and his laptop and connects them up to download all the pictures and footage he took in the delta. Oh yes, he’d forgotten he planned to edit the video down so it was more manageable for Louis to watch. Maybe he can do that for the rest of the afternoon, then give Louis a small file he can watch on his phone or something.

“You’re up to showing me?” Louis returns with bananas and a beaming smile. “That’s brilliant. Here.” He holds out the bunch of enormous yellow bananas. “I bought these for you this morning.” 

The bananas in Africa taste so much better than at home, sweeter and softer. Does this mean Louis’ noticed Harry helping himself to at least two every day? “Thanks.”

Crawling into the tent, Louis situates himself cross-legged on the canvas floor. “How did you keep your camera charged while you were out there? Or were you just really careful with the battery?”

Okay, it looks like it’s happening now. There’s a flicker in his stomach that has nothing to do with airsickness and everything to do with Louis viewing his work, witnessing just how much Harry couldn’t stop thinking about him while he was in the Okavango. “I, um, I have a charger? To charge the charger?”

“Yeah?” Louis laughs. “I keep thinking I should get one of those, but then I only really use my phone where there’s internet, which means there’s electricity too, so I’ve never got around to it. Seems like you were well prepared for this trip, though.”

“It was mostly Liam,” Harry explains, not wanting to take credit he doesn’t deserve. “Because he’s planning the whole publicity strategy around it, he wanted to make sure we wouldn’t have any trouble with charging and internet. I believe he contacted your company a number of times about it. He has a list with each destination where we’ll have internet and videos he wants to make and where he plans to post them. It’s little teaser videos for now. He puts them on Niall’s Instagram and also on his YouTube account, which has a lot of followers—or viewers? Or subscribers?” Harry can never remember all the social media terminology correctly. 

“I love YouTube,” Louis says. “I’m gonna follow Niall—or subscribe, or whatever. On Instagram too.”

“You have an Instagram?”

“Tommo underscore Africa. Do you have one? I’ll follow you too, if that’s okay.”

“It’s HA underscore ED underscore ST.”

“Very cryptic.”

“It’s my initials.”

“Harry....Ed-something....Styles?”

“Edward.”

“William,” Louis says, pointing to himself.

Harry disconnects the download cable and reaches across for his camera case to put it and the camera away. “We’re very royal.”

“Only the best on this tour, naturally.” 

This close, Louis’ eyes are bright, bright blue. They crinkle when he laughs and Harry wants to photograph them. Wants to experiment in different light, discover all the shades that blue can turn.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No. Sorry.” How many times can Harry blush this afternoon? “I was just—your eyes,” he gives up trying to come up with an excuse. “They’re beautiful. I was thinking about photographing them.”

“Oh.” Is Harry imagining it or do Louis’ cheeks turn pink too? “I see you were good with your sunscreen and cap on your expedition, so feel free. Whenever you want, you can take what you like.”

Harry pulls his camera out again. “Right now? May I?”

Oh yeah, Louis is definitely blushing and it’s riveting. “I’m all sweaty and my hair’s a mess, but if you want, that was our agreement so go ahead.”

Flipping to the setting he wants, Harry starts taking close-ups. “It’s the light,” he murmurs as he clicks. “It’s so bright in your eyes. Your eyes sparkle like—like the summer sun on the sea. You know? Like in Cape Town, on the Atlantic.”

“I have Atlantic eyes, is that what you’re saying?”

“South Atlantic eyes. Summer sunshine eyes. Fuck, Louis, they’re stunning.” 

Louis’ face is too, bone structure the camera loves, clear golden skin with precious little freckles beside his nose, and soft, exquisitely shaped lips that are constantly smiling, even now when he’s disconcerted at finding himself in the focus of Harry’s camera. 

“Sorry.” Harry lowers the camera before he wants to. “Thank you for that.”

“Did you get what you wanted?”

“I think so.” He flicks through on the screen. Definitely. “Thanks.”

“Now it’s time to show me the pictures you took for me. What’s the best way for us to both see your laptop?” Louis considers the tent. “If we move the mattress into the middle, we can both lie down across it and balance your laptop on your bag. How about that?”

“That will work.” 

It also brings them right next to each other, upper arms pressed together as they rest on their elbows. The laptop ends up on the canvas floor so Harry can reach the controls more easily since he’ll have to do a lot of fast-forwarding.

“I mostly took video,” he explains as he sets up the programme. “Pictures didn’t capture it properly and I wanted you to know what it was like to be there. There’s far too much of it and I should cut about three-quarters away—”

“No!” Louis shoots a protective hand over the laptop. “It’s my video. I want all of it.”

“It’s hours, literally.”

“You filmed for me for hours?”

The file opens on the screen with a still of Harry’s knees sticking up in the mokoro, clear blue water beyond. “I wasn’t thinking about the end product so much, just—well, showing you everything.”

He hits play. The knees disappear as the camera lifts to pan slowly around the river, still and cool in the morning light, green papyrus reeds beckoning in the distance. 

“It’s gorgeous, Lou,” Harry’s voice says on the video, struck with awe. “God, just look at it.”

“Harry,” Louis says softly, his attention rapt on the screen. “It’s beautiful.”

The camera looks down straight into the water, the light turning gold with the reflection of the pale sand below. 

“It’s so clear.”

“Yeah, you could see how the roots of the reeds just dangled in the water, not reaching the bottom. The guide said that’s what happens when there’s lots of rain. Crocodiles like to hide under there.”

“Did you see any?”

“Crocodiles? No. Nor hippos, luckily.”

“Luckily?”

“Do you know how easily they kill people? And there are, like, a lot in the delta.”

“I guess the guides, since they’re standing up to pole, can see over the reeds and see where it’s safe to go.”

“I was glad I didn’t know about the hippos on the way out there. It wasn’t as relaxing coming back.”

Louis slides his arm over Harry’s back and pulls him close. “I’ve never lost a passenger to a hippopotamus yet, Hazza.”

“You weren’t there,” Harry says darkly. “You couldn’t have saved me.”

Louis drops his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “You survived, though, yeah? No hippo attacks? Maybe I was doing magic for you back at the camp to make sure you were safe.”

“Magic? Like magic spells?”

“You have no idea of my powers, young Haz.”

Harry lets his cheek rest against Louis’ soft hair for a moment. It smells like the apple shampoo Louis bought in Swakopmund. “You can do spells for me,” he allows. 

On the screen, the mokoro heads straight into the reeds, which separate with a soft swish, parting easily until the boat emerges into a wider channel. “Look at the lilies, Lou,” screen-Harry breathes. 

“Can’t believe they’re that big,” real Louis breathes in Harry’s ear. “Like in the fairy tales I used to read to my sisters. Did you find a frog prince to kiss?”

“He wasn’t there,” Harry says. 

Lifting his head, Louis turns to look at him. “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough.”

“Maybe I already knew where he was, and I knew he wasn’t in the Okavango Delta with me.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

“I need to fast-forward through a lot of this,” Harry says quickly, turning his attention to the software controls. “It’s literally two hours of floating through the reeds. Sorry, I should have edited this, really. It’s a bit boring.”

“Do you keep talking through it?” Thank God Louis is acting like nothing just happened, his voice casual and curious. 

“A bit. Sorry. I wasn’t really aware of when I was doing it.” Harry returns to normal speed to show through a thick reed forest. “It’s just, like, what I’d have been saying if you were there.”

They watch the boat cut through the reeds, which brush against Harry’s knees.

“Do the reeds hurt?” Louis asks. “I mean, are they sharp? They look sharp.”

“They’re cool, often wet. It’s a nice feeling against your skin.”

“I can’t get over how fast the mokoros move. I always thought it would be much slower since they’re powered by people pushing them along.”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” Harry leaves it running while they emerge from the reeds into a wide channel flanked with hundreds of white lilies with bright yellow hearts. 

“Surely there was a frog amongst all this lot, Haz,” Louis says with exaggerated scepticism. “You can’t expect me to believe there wasn’t.”

“None for me to kiss, though.”

“No?”

“Mm-mm.” Desperate for a distraction, Harry eyes the bananas. “Want a banana?”

“I got them for you.”

“And I’m offering you one, since I have nothing else to offer in my little home beneath the—I don’t know, whatever these shady trees are outside. Will you have one?”

“Thank you.” Louis accepts the banana Harry holds out to him. 

Harry’s been told in the past that the way he eats bananas is obscene, so he is very careful to take small nibbles and mostly keep his banana far away from his mouth in case Louis thinks he’s trying to look suggestive. It’s easier because he leans forward to skip through the rest of the mokoro ride, alighting on the odd moment to share, and then it’s the drama of everyone trying to pole the mokoros themselves. Louis spends the whole time laughing almost hysterically at Harry’s wry onscreen commentary, and even harder when screen Harry gives his camera to Rolf to film him having a go and promptly lands face first in the water. Louis pauses it on Rolf’s zoom on Harry’s reed-streaked face when he emerges from the river.

“Can we screenshot this? I want it.”

Screen Harry is a mess, glowering through the reeds and mud, hair all over the place, but Harry thinks that if it were Louis in the same position, he’d want a screenshot of him, too, all wet and pouty. 

Obligingly, he screenshots it.

The game walk isn’t that exciting, just as Harry remembers. He didn’t remember, however, his irritated commentary, so he quickly skips on.

“Hey, I was listening to that.”

“You can listen later. It’s just me complaining. I mean, I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Why were you complaining?”

“Because it was hot and there were no animals and I had a headache because of not drinking enough and I was annoyed because—” _Because you weren’t there._ “You would have made it more fun,” he mutters. “Look, here’s the concert.”

He plays a bit of the polers singing, because their harmonising was fantastic, then moves on to Niall. Niall looks great playing the Okavango Delta. Dressed simply in khakis and a white vest, he stands out in the firelight, voice soaring above his guitar. 

“I love this song,” Louis says, swaying gently to the music. “It’s my favourite of his.”

“You listened to the album?”

“’Course. You need to tell me one day which ones you wrote. Which words are yours.”

“This one.” Harry doesn’t want to boast, but if Louis honestly wants to know, then he can’t keep it back. “I wrote this one. It was the only one on his album that I wrote entirely by myself.”

“You did? You need to write more, Haz. You write so beautifully.” Louis rolls onto his back and regards Harry through astonishingly long eyelashes. “You have an unusual way with words, I noticed it with the song in Swakop and this one is similar. People need to hear more of you.”

Just then, the Harry who’s filming starts singing softly along with Niall, harmonising in the chorus. 

“Fuck, just listen to you!”

Harry is, and it’s embarrassing. “I’ll skip this bit.”

But Louis grabs his wrist before he can reach the controls. “No, don’t. Let me hear you.” 

So Harry rolls onto his back as well and they lie there together listening to screen Niall and Harry sing through the next several songs. 

*

It’s nearly sunset when Harry stirs. The screen is playing the return mokoro ride. It’s almost at the end and he and Louis drifted off and missed most of it.

Or he did, at any rate. Louis’ eyes are open and he’s lying on his side now, fingers tangled in Harry’s curls, other arm supporting his head as he watches Harry’s video.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Did I fall asleep? Sorry.” Harry wipes his mouth. Please let him not have drooled all over Louis. 

“You needed it, love. I saw how you woke up this morning, all rumpled and messy and cross.” Louis strokes his hand over Harry’s hair. “I hope this waking is a bit better.”

“A lot better.” He has what he lacked this morning and what he never expected to have again. Louis’ hand in his hair is hypnotically wonderful and he nestles into it before he can stop himself.

“Like this, do you?”

They can’t do this. But it’s Harry’s birthday and he wants it. He wants so much. Surely the universe can’t begrudge him a tiny little bit of hair stroking?

“Mmm,” he says. 

“You sound like a sleepy kitten.”

“Mmm, am.”

“Very cute little kitten.” Louis keeps stroking and it’s heavenly. 

“Not little.”

“Hate to break it to you, Haz, but you’re hardly the Hulk.”

“Says you.”

“Shh,” Louis whispers, twisting onto his stomach so he can place his finger over Harry’s lips. “Don’t argue, love. You’re my cute little kitten.”

Harry licks Louis’ finger. A kitten would do that, surely.

Louis chuckles, low and husky. “Don’t be naughty.” 

But he doesn’t move his finger away, so Harry catches it between his teeth.

Louis clicks his tongue reprovingly and tightens his fingers in Harry’s hair. 

This is not the way to get Harry to stop.

But he can’t let it go any further. It’s going exactly where he wants it to and he can’t do that to Louis, not even with Louis as a willing participant. Closing his mouth over Louis’ finger, he slides his lips off the end of it like a kiss, and sits up. “Must be close to dinner time,” he says, very business-like, no more sleepy-kitten-like. “I was deprived of cooking the last two meals when it’s finally my proper cooking day again, so you have to let me make dinner, Louis.”

Louis sits up too, the languid warmth in his eyes turning back to cheery sparkle. “Far be it from me to deprive you. Let’s go see what I planned for tonight.”

Lasagne, according to his notebook, which Harry excels at making. He sits Louis down across the table with orders not to help and gets stuck in while Louis entertains him with stories he picked up from some of the other guides at the bar last night. There was one who, a month ago, was guiding a hunter who sounds a lot like Michael and the man refused to listen to basic safety instructions and headed off from this very camp into the bush and was found later stampeded to smithereens by a herd of buffalo. 

“They’ll turn on the hunter, buffalo,” Louis finishes off, sounding proud of them. 

Harry shudders. There are far too many deadly creatures on this continent for his liking, but how must they feel, with their habitats invaded by humans? 

“Not a cheerful subject?” Louis asks, noticing Harry’s demeanour. 

“I don’t like having to constantly think about what might kill me.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll keep doing magic to protect you.”

It feels like Louis could. He looks like a magical forest sprite beneath the trees, with his skin the colour of the sand around them, hair like the tree bark, and eyes like the sky. This is his element and Harry can’t picture him trapped in a suit in an office somewhere in a city. “You do that,” he says. “I’m counting on you.”

The others drift by, drawn by the aroma of Harry’s lasagne as it cooks. Harry organises the rest of his cooking team to prepare a salad to go with it while Louis listens to Yolanda and Hayley’s tale of their basket-weaving class in town. Annette, Rolf, Liam and Niall drag their mattresses outside to do their evening yoga. It makes Harry a little queasy to watch them, so he’s glad to have the excuse not to join in. Jim and Marya, who shared a helicopter ride over the delta, show Louis their video. Good, that means Louis gets to see what the Okavango looks like from the air, since Harry couldn’t show him. 

Did Louis really lie there for over an hour watching Harry’s morning mokoro ride video while Harry napped? It couldn’t have been that interesting, surely. 

Or did Louis just want to stay there with him?

No.

Thoughts like that are not permitted. None of what happened this afternoon is permitted. He was weak for the last time. It was a special birthday treat. After this it’s hands-off friends only.

“Why’re you scowling, love?”

Too late, Harry realises he’s glaring into the gathering darkness behind the trees. “Sorry, I’m not. I’m fine. Dinner’s ready now if you want to call everyone.”

In the spirit of his newfound determination, he takes a chair over to join Niall and Liam while they eat. 

“Are you feeling better, H?” Liam asks through a mouthful of lasagne. 

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry for the bother this afternoon.”

“You were green,” Niall says. “You weren’t breathing at all when we brought you back.”

“Because if I breathed I knew I’d be sick.”

“He was breathing, though,” Liam points out. “He’d be dead if he wasn’t.”

“Very lightly,” Harry clarifies. “But why did you get Louis when I was sick?”

“He saw us arrive with you. I carried you to the bathroom and he came running over.”

“He told us to go get your tent up so you had somewhere to rest. He was pretty fucking scary,” Niall comments. “When that man takes charge, he really takes charge.”

Liam moves on to his salad. “I tell you what, he was fucking relieved when you started chucking up.”

Harry doesn’t want to think about that. “Why?”

“Because you were so out of it before. You couldn’t even stand by yourself.”

“I was trying very hard not to be sick. I didn’t even know Louis was there until afterwards.”

“He was proper worried, mate. He always seems so laidback and happy, but Niall’s right, he was scary.”

Harry wishes he could have seen that side of Louis. On the other hand, he revelled in the Louis he got, caressing his hair and rubbing his back and calling him _love._

“What did you do all afternoon?”

“I showed him my stuff and then I fell asleep.”

“Good job, sleep was the best thing you could do,” Liam says approvingly. “That’s why Louis wanted us to set up your tent.”

Harry refrains from telling them that Louis stayed with him while he slept. He doesn’t want to reactivate Liam’s censure. “Can’t say it’s been the best birthday of my life,” he says instead, although the events of the late afternoon went a long way to making up for the rest of it.

“Did you say something about a birthday, Harry Styles?” Louis yells from across the circle. “Come on, share with the class. Is it your birthday today?”

“His twenty-third,” Niall calls back. “Big boy, our Harry.”

“Well, guess what, Haz.” Louis comes forward, gathering everyone’s attention as he lifts his arms. “I have a surprise for you,” he says in his best announcer’s voice. He sweeps his arms over to point to where Zayn is approaching their circle of seats from the direction of the bar. “Happy birthday, Harry!”

As Zayn comes further into the light, Harry realises he’s carrying a cake. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way!” Louis crows. “Come on, Haz, stand up. Niall, lead us in a round of Happy Birthday, there’s a good lad.”

Harry can’t believe it. He hates making a big deal about his birthday, he’s too old for that now, but he can’t help loving the fact that Louis is. While everyone sings, Zayn lays the cake down on the table and Louis shepherds Harry across to it. Five candles flicker on it, two on one side and three on the other.

“Twenty-three were a bit many to fit on there,” Louis explains, “so there you have two and three. Read them together and it’s—”

“Twenty-three!” Harry laughs.

“Smile, H!” 

He looks up in time for Liam to snap a picture. 

Louis throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders and orders, “Another one, Liam.”

Liam takes it, then passes his camera to Zayn and he and Niall crowd around Harry and Louis and everyone joins in for a massive group picture and Harry feels warm and loved and blissful. 

*

Much later, after plenty of birthday cake and Louis’ explanations of baking it that morning and hiding it up at the bar because he knew Harry would be all over his kitchen when he got back, followed by a singalong led by Niall of every celebratory song he could think of, people start disappearing off to bed. 

Louis isn’t anywhere to be seen when Niall and Liam get up. Harry reluctantly rises with them. He’s had so much Louis today after his deprived morning, he really can’t complain. 

He’s pulling off his shirt when he hears a soft, “Knock, knock,” outside his tent.

“Lou?” He unzips the door to find Louis on one knee outside. “Come in.” He shuffles backwards, giving Louis room.

Louis hovers in the doorway. “I, um—I brought you—here.” He shoves three little packages into Harry’s hands. “Happy birthday.”

“What’s—presents? For me?” He stares down at them, then glances back up at Louis, who looks shy and uncomfortable. 

“You don’t need to open them now. I just—I got them for you yesterday.”

“How did you even know it was my birthday?”

“It’s on your form.” Louis’ hands play with the flap of the door, tugging the zip up and down over a couple of inches. “Don’t worry, I always make some kind of a cake or special dessert for people’s birthdays; yours just happened to be the first on the trip. I didn’t—it wasn’t inappropriate. Liam assured me you wouldn’t mind a public celebration.”

“I didn’t, like, at all.” Harry emphasises that. “I loved it. I wasn’t expecting anything today, I thought only Liam and Niall knew about my birthday.”

“Well, if I hadn’t known before, I’d have seen their happy birthday song to you this morning on your video,” Louis points out. “Nice red undies, by the way.”

“A birthday special,” Harry says seriously, wishing he’d watched it back before letting Louis see it to know how much of himself he showed. “Don’t expect that every day.”

“Pity. They looked good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I open these now?” Harry indicates the presents and Louis’ confidence fades again.

“It’s really nothing. You can wait until I’m gone.”

“And if I want to open them now?”

Why is there such trepidation in Louis’ eyes? “Yeah, of course. It’s your birthday, you can do whatever you want.”

What he wants is to kiss the mouth Louis’ worrying at with his teeth, and he can’t. He settles for opening the presents. He picks the flat one first. It feels like a book, and it turns out to be a spiral notebook with sketches of papyrus reeds on the cover. 

“It’s, um, made from recycled paper and, uh, well, it says on the back.”

Harry turns it over, angling his headtorch down so he can read the small writing, and bursts into laughter. “Elephant dung! Louis, that’s just—fuck, I love that!”

“You do?”

“It’s fantastic. It’s amazing what people can do. So clever. Thank you.”

“Glad you like it. Open the next one.”

Louis seems more eager about this one, pointing to the package that’s soft and floppy in his hands. Harry opens up the bag and unwraps the tissue paper within. 

“They’re lighter, see,” Louis says, “instead of the big ones you wear in England. They’re some kind of silk and they’ll keep your curls at bay and won’t suffocate you with heat.”

There are three scarves, delicate and lovely. One of them is the exact shade of Louis’ eyes in the sunlight this afternoon and he picks it out. “Tie it in my hair for me.”

“You’re going to bed, Harriet.”

“Still. I want you to put it on me. You have to. It’s still my birthday for another hour and a half.”

Louis comes closer, fully inside the tent now, and takes the blue scarf from him. Harry folds up his knees to lower himself, pulls off his headtorch and bows his head as though in supplication. 

“I feel like I’m crowning you or something,” Louis says, winding it around Harry’s head. He folds the end over, tucking it in so it’s secure. “Blue looks beautiful on you, King Haz.”

“Thank you.”

Fishing in his pocket, Louis pulls out his phone. “Am I allowed to take pictures of you?”

“The light’s terrible in here.”

“I’m not pretending to take professional photos, am I? It’s perfectly adequate for what I want.”

“Whatever you want, Louis, you can have.”

“Excellent. Don’t move.” Louis tilts the phone at an angle Harry knows he’ll look terrible from, but a pleased little smile lights up Louis’ face as he takes several pictures in a row. “Just in case one is blurred,” he explains.

“Should I hold up my elephant dung notebook as well?”

“No, wait, open your last present. I do want a picture of you with it. Here.” Louis picks it up from where Harry laid it on the canvas floor when he unwrapped the scarves. “This is my favourite one.”

It’s in a long box, and wrapped in tissue paper as well. Impatiently, Louis reaches over to push the tissue paper aside to reveal something carved out of wood. 

“Take it out.”

“I am.” Carefully, Harry pulls it free. It’s a giraffe, exquisitely carved from dark wood, with graceful long legs and an elegant neck—and the wackiest expression Harry ever saw on an animal. “What the hell?” he laughs.

“I call him Harry the Second,” Louis informs him, “because he looks just like you. See his eyes? And his laughing expression? It’s just like you, like the way you look right now.”

“H-Harry the Second? Are you serious?” Harry can’t stop giggling. “You bought me a giraffe that looks like me? How on earth did you find such a treasure, Lou?”

“Lots of walking. Maun is a lot bigger than I ever imagined.”

“You got all these yesterday?”

“I’d planned to get you something in Swakop, but then you were with me all day so I couldn’t.”

“These are perfect, though.” Harry cradles everything close to his chest. “I love them, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Louis’ smile crinkles up his nose and Harry wants to kiss him even more. “Happy birthday, Haz.”

“Can I give you a hug to say thank you?”

“I’m always up for a hug, you know me.” Louis opens up his arms and Harry puts his presents down on his sleeping bag and goes into them happily. Louis is warm, sticky from mosquito repellent, and he holds onto Harry tightly. “Was this a good birthday in the end?” he asks.

“The best,” Harry says firmly. “The very best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Posting two chapters today because this one is so short)

**Day 17 - Louis**

**Maun to Elephant Sands to Chobe, Botswana**

He went too far. Louis knows that, but he couldn’t help himself.

Not that that’s any excuse.

God help him.

Seeing Harry’s shining face at breakfast does things to Louis, things it shouldn’t do. Harry’s wearing the blue scarf in his hair again and Louis can’t help thinking of it as Louis Colours. 

He’s known Harry for barely two weeks. 

He’s been with Michelle for nearly six years. 

Harry is going back to England to become a lawyer. 

Louis works in Africa.

And Louis isn’t free.

How can he throw away a committed relationship, one that’s serious enough that he’s considering marriage, just for—what? An illicit month-long fling with one of his passengers? 

What kind of a person has he become?

So much for feeling like his mother would be proud of him; she wouldn’t be proud of this. 

As they strike out east across the Kalahari, he situates himself comfortably on his seat, legs up, Harry’s hoodie rolled into a pillow behind his head, and for the first time since being told of his mother’s death he actively thinks about her. Remembers what she was like when he went to her with a problem, remembers the way she’d look at him as she helped him work through what his issues were.

“She’d tell me to be honest,” he says out loud, watching a donkey amble out of Zayn’s way.

Zayn snaps a sharp look at him. “Who? Michelle?”

“Her too.”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Louis plumps the hoodie, so fluffy and welcoming of him. “You already know.”

“Harry.”

Zayn says it heavily, and his tone stings. “Harry’s not a bad thing, Zayn.”

“Not sure, when it comes to you.”

“He’s the best.” He is, Louis is sure of that. The very best, just like he said about his birthday last night. It’s Louis who’s the problem. “Tell me I’m being stupid.”

“You’re being stupid,” Zayn says immediately.

“It’s just a fantasy, isn’t it?” Louis continues. “It’s not real. Certainly not for him. And it shouldn’t be for me. Do you think it’s because I’m scared of commitment?”

“You’re not scared of commitment, Louis.”

But he is. He’s terrified by the thought of getting married and settling down and being a proper grown up and having to face everything. Oh. Maybe it’s not the commitment that’s freaking him out but his fear of everything else. Maybe he’s just a coward in general. Maybe he’s latched onto the romantic idea of Harry as a way to keep running, yet another avenue of escape. 

It’s time Louis grew up.

“You’re right,” he says, sliding his sunglasses on to block the searing sun. “That’s not the problem.”

And since it’s not, it’s time to take concrete steps towards sorting himself out.

*

If he had any doubts about what he needs to do, they’re shredded into non-existent bits when they stop at Elephant Sands for lunch. A safari camp right near the border with Zimbabwe, it’s one of Louis’ favourite places even though it’s no longer on the overnight schedule, and he always makes sure they have time to stop and have lunch, maybe while away a couple of hours in the swimming pool watching the elephants enjoy their own pool just a few metres away. They’re wild elephants who roam at a whim between the countries of southern Africa and come by of their own volition to enjoy the waterhole and, Louis privately suspects, show off a bit for the strange human creatures who view them from the terrace. 

It’s Niall’s group on cooking today. They’re not thrilled at the discovery that they have to chop vegetables before they can join the others in the swimming pool beside the elephants, but Niall overpowers Jim’s complaints and Annette and Hayley join him in determined cheeriness to get the task done. They all want to eat, after all. 

Louis doesn’t realise that Niall’s arranging everyone strategically until he finds himself chopping tomatoes off at a side table with only Niall for company, while Jim, Annette and Hayley use the facility’s picnic table to prepare the rest of the salad. 

“Thanks for Harry’s party last night,” Niall begins, and the weight of his voice alerts Louis that this isn’t just a thank you. 

“It was a pleasure.” Louis sends him his most friendly smile and doesn’t lift his knife protectively in front of him, even though he feels a distinct need to do so. “I always try to make birthdays special on the trip since people are away from home.”

“You give gifts too?”

Niall’s direct gaze is impossible to lie to. “Not always. I just—I was in town and saw the giraffe and it reminded me of Harry so I got it for him. No big deal.”

“The scarves reminded you of him too?”

“The ones he brought were too heavy.”

“And the notebook?”

“He writes all the time.”

“And spending the afternoon with him in his tent?”

Shit. They noticed that, did they? Louis shrugs, still smiling with relentless friendliness. “He was ill. I needed to keep an eye on him.”

“We could have done that.”

“He’s my responsibility. I’d have done the same for any of my passengers.”

Niall nods, but it’s definitely not with acceptance or approval. 

Louis glances across the wide concrete deck to the swimming pool where Harry’s on Liam’s shoulders as they play fight against Nathan on Danny’s shoulders. Hayley, Rachel and Yolanda cheer them on and Harry beams at them for their support when he manages to dislodge Nathan, who crashes into the water. If they keep that noise up, they’re going to drive the elephants away.

“H is special.” Niall’s voice cuts into Louis’ preoccupation with trying to work out the tattoo he can spot high on Harry’s thigh. “He flirts a lot, but he doesn’t mean it. That’s just the way he is. With everybody.”

Louis’ already figured that much out. “I know that.”

“He played around in university but he’s looking for something more now, a serious permanent relationship.”

“Mm-hm.” He’d probably better not tell Niall he already knows about Harry’s romantic history.

“With someone who’s there,” Niall persists. “Someone he can buy a house with and settle down and have a family with.”

Hang on. “Isn’t he a little young for that?”

“Not as far as Harry’s concerned. That’s his dream, it‘s one of the reasons he wants to be a lawyer instead of travelling around with us writing songs and taking pictures, so he can provide for the family that he wants.”

Ah. There it is. The missing piece in the puzzle of Harry Styles. Louis looks across at Harry again. He has Rachel on his shoulders this time, who’s wrestling with Yolanda on Liam’s shoulders. He looks like a teenager, laughing hysterically as he frolics in the water with carefree delight.

Louis turns back to Niall. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this, mate. It’s not your story to tell.”

Niall doesn’t blink, just fixes Louis with a hard blue stare. 

“Does Harry know you go around spilling his secrets to strangers?”

“You spent the night with him, _mate_.” Niall emphasises the last word, a clear mockery of Louis using it. “Doesn’t look so much like strangers from where I’m sitting.”

“I just took him his present—”

“In Ghanzi.”

Oh. Of course Harry’s friends know, since they were looking for them both with Zayn. He drops his eyes down to his tomatoes, which he’s chopped almost to pulp, and carefully lays down the knife. “I’m not the threat you seem to think,” he tells Niall levelly. “I’m not a threat to Harry at all.” 

It’s the other way around. 

It’s the other fucking way around and Louis’ legs give out beneath him. He sits down heavily on the cement bench behind him. 

“I’m proposing to my girlfriend.” His voice doesn’t shake. He sounds certain and confident, and he straightens his shoulders. “Next month. It’s her birthday and our sixth anniversary, and she’s joining me in Zanzibar on the return trip and I’m proposing.”

“You are?” Niall says sceptically.

“It’s all arranged.”

“That right?”

It will be. “Yeah.”

For the first time in the conversation, Niall’s eyes turn wintery. “Might want to mention that to Harry. Mate.”

He stalks away with the tomato before Louis can reply. Louis is shaking. Why is he shaking? He holds his hand up in front of him and it trembles uncontrollably. In the distance he sees Niall finishing off the salad with the others and calling Louis’ passengers to come and eat, but Louis can’t seem to respond. He should be there with them, overseeing lunch, making sure everyone has enough, that they’re all right and don’t need anything. 

Harry scrambles out of the pool in his short yellow swimsuit and doesn’t bother to pull a shirt on as he heads to the table, laughing with Liam over something Yolanda’s telling them. His curls drip water all over his shoulders. 

Harry wants to get married. He wants to have babies. He wants to settle down.

He wants all the things that terrify Louis. 

But Louis is the one with the long-term serious partner who wants to share all of those things with him. 

This is a sign that he’s doing the right thing, he tells himself. If Harry can want all those things as young as he is, then surely Louis can manage them? 

“Louis!” 

A body cannonballs into his and it’s only because he recognises the scent of her favourite cocoa butter lotion that he knows who’s wrapping herself around him. “Hey, Lauren.” He hugs her back hard. “I was coming to say hello as soon as we got lunch going here.”

Pulling away, she smacks him on the arm. “You should have come as soon as you arrived. Look at you, you’re not even working.”

He should ask Lauren about his plan to propose. As Michelle’s best friend from childhood, she’ll have the best advice on what Michelle would like. She can help him organise the most wonderful, most romantic proposal ever.

He captures her hand, which is still whacking him. “I need to ask you something, yeah? I need some advice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Posting two chapters today because the previous chapter was so short)

**Day 18 - Harry**

**Chobe National Park, Botswana**

“Something’s wrong,” Harry insists. 

Liam takes the binoculars from him to follow the herd of buffalo that’s rampaging in the distance as the first pinpricks of sunlight filter through the trees of the Chobe National Park. “Maybe he feels uncomfortable after giving you the presents.” 

It’s the third time Liam’s said something like that and Harry could maybe accept it if Louis were avoiding just him, but since Elephant Sands yesterday Louis has been invisible to everyone. He shifts on the hard bench of the safari truck and shakes his head when Liam offers him the binoculars back. Yes, this dawn excursion is incredible, but he’s seen plenty of buffalo already, thank you, and he needs to figure out what to do about Louis before they get back to their camp and brunch. Will Louis even show up for brunch? He didn’t for dinner last night. Zayn made them some South African speciality of a curried mince with an egg topping which Harry would normally be all over, but it was hard to care about a recipe when Louis was nowhere to be found. 

He’d tried to ask Zayn where Louis was, but Zayn just grunted, “He’s busy,” and looked grim and scary, and Harry lost his courage to push any further. 

What could Louis be so busy with here on the shores of the Chobe River? 

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you when you were making lunch yesterday?” he presses Niall, who hasn’t been very talkative this morning. “How did he seem? He disappeared right after that. I didn’t even see him eating.”

“He went off with one of the girls who works there, I told you.” Niall shakes Harry’s hand off his arm. “Just leave it, H. It’s none of our business.”

Surely Niall can’t be implying what it sounds like he is. “Louis has a girlfriend,” Harry reminds him. 

“Yes, he does.” Niall grabs the binoculars from Liam. “Hey, look, is that an African fish eagle sitting in that tree?”

It’s a gigantic bird, nearly a metre high, with brown wings and a white head, and Harry couldn’t care less. “Maybe. I don't know. Do you really think Louis would cheat on—um, his girlfriend?”

He almost said _me._ What is wrong with him? Louis isn’t his and he knows that.

“That’s not what I said. Vicky?” Niall leans forward to tap her on the shoulder in the row ahead of them. “Is that the African fish eagle you were telling me about last night?”

“Yes.” She turns around with a bright smile despite the fact her husband has spent the morning constantly complaining about the lack of pre-safari coffee and the cold wind and the hard seats. “I can’t believe we’re actually seeing one! It’s the bird I most wanted to see on this trip.”

“Vicky said they’re the national bird of Namibia, Zambia and Zimbabwe,” Niall informs Harry. 

“And yet here we are seeing it in Botswana,” she says with a laugh.

“But Namibia’s just over there.” Liam points across the broad river that’s turning from silver to gold as the rising sun reaches it. “There’s a strip of the country running across almost the whole of the north of Botswana and right here is where it meets Zambia and Zimbabwe too, so this is the perfect place to see the fish eagle.”

“Four countries meet right here?” Harry is distracted enough from his Louis quest to look around at the quiet African bush and rushing river. “Where?”

“You’ll see tomorrow. I’ll show you on the map later, but in the morning when we cross the Zambezi River into Zambia, the crossing is where all four countries meet.”

“But I thought this was, like, the Chobe River?”

“It is, and it joins the Zambezi at the crossing. I’ll show you tomorrow, H. I’ve never been at a place where you can see four countries at once!”

Liam’s enthusiasm makes Harry wish he could forget his preoccupation with Louis and focus on the adventure of their epic trip. He’s in Africa, deep in the heart of the continent, surrounded by the exotic animals he grew up reading about and never dreamed he’d see in their natural habitat. Their guide for the day’s safari, Andreas, is pulling up beside the river now and pointing out that what looked like a bunch of rocks sticking up from the water is actually a hippopotamus family and Harry should, really, care more about seeing them than he does. It’s such a privilege to get to experience this and why can’t he stop worrying that something is wrong with Louis? 

As though he can overhear Harry’s thoughts, Niall slides a warm arm around him and says firmly, “He’s not fucking worth it, H. He’s fine, and even if he isn’t, it’s not our business.”

It is Harry’s business, though. For whatever reason, Louis is in his life and Harry cares, he cares a hell of a lot. “I’ll find him when we get back,” he decides, resting his head against Niall’s comforting shoulder. “I just need to know for sure he’s okay.”

*

It’s one of Harry’s favourite safari expeditions so far. After they watch the hippos trudge around on the bottom of the river, only their eyes, ears and nostrils showing, an enormous crocodile puts on a snappish display on the shore and some giraffes wander down to drink at the water’s edge. The highlight for Harry, however, is the troop of baboons who show up with their babies. Harry’s never seen anything so adorable as the tiny baby monkeys clinging to their mothers’ stomachs as the large females stalk through the sand. One adventurous little baby climbs around to perch on its mother’s back, sitting proudly to pose for photographs before the mother loses her patience and lopes off into the bush. On the drive back to camp, an angry buffalo threatens to charge the safari vehicle, leading to several nerve-wracking moments, and then another herd of giraffes accompanies them towards the edge of the park. 

Louis found a giraffe that looks like Harry and gave it to him for his birthday. Harry still can’t get over that. He tried to contain himself when sharing his presents with Liam and Niall on the drive to Elephant Sands yesterday, but was he too obvious about his crush?

Was he too obvious to Louis?

But surely Louis wouldn’t ignore all his passengers just because he’s uncomfortable with Harry? This isn’t Louis-like behaviour. 

As soon as they get back to camp, Harry will track Louis down. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on, just so long as he knows Louis is all right.

When the safari truck turns into the campsite, Liam nudges Harry. “Looks like you were worrying for nothing.”

Harry follows Liam’s gaze. Louis has his tables out, kitchen all set up, and he’s making pancakes for brunch, grinning and waving a happy good morning as people jump down from the truck and run over to him. He throws his arms around Rachel and Hayley, high fives Danny, presents his cheek for a kiss from Vicky, and cheerily asks how Jim and Marya are faring. Stories of the morning’s adventures bubble out from the passengers like little children eager to tell their parent about their day, and Harry presses himself against the side of the truck and tries not to stare like a creepy person.

Louis is fine.

Louis is laughing.

Louis looks beautiful in the sunshine but he only has a t-shirt on and he’s shivering in the chilly morning breeze. 

He’s not wearing Harry’s hoodie.

He’s cold and he isn’t wearing Harry’s hoodie to keep him warm. 

“Don’t, H.” Niall pauses beside him to squeeze his arm. “Don’t get yourself in a state over him. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Niall gets it. Niall saw Harry with Shane. He was there when Harry first met him, when Harry fell headlong in love and started dreaming of forever and perusing interior decorating websites and investigating house prices and adoption. He was an idiot, Harry can see that now, he and Shane had barely had a handful of dates, but sleeping together felt like making love, the first time Harry ever felt that way, and it showed him what was possible. Showed him what it was like to sleep in someone’s arms and plan his days to complement somebody else’s schedule, gave him the security of knowing someone was his person and he was their person, and that suited Harry. When he discovered Shane was sleeping with two other guys at the same time, it wasn’t the loss of Shane, so much, that devastated Harry but the loss of that togetherness. 

He feels that sense of togetherness with Louis. 

But he’s already discovered that his feeling it bears no relation to whether the other person feels it. The strength of his feeling doesn’t mean it’s reciprocated.

And Niall was there when Harry broke last time, when he retreated into himself and stopped talking and didn’t leave their room for three weeks. Niall was the one who brought Harry food, who forced him to wash himself and change his clothes, who laundered Harry’s sheets and held him when eventually he was ready to cry. 

At least Harry wrote Niall his first hit song out of the experience, but it’s no surprise that Niall doesn’t want a repeat of Harry’s heartbreak. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers, turning to press his body against Niall’s steadiness. He can’t take his eyes off Louis’ animated smiles.

Niall pats his shoulder. “I know, mate.”

“Is it wrong of me to still want to be, like, his friend?”

“Can you be just his friend?”

No. But Harry’s not interested in listening to that little condemning voice. “I want to try.”

“H.” Not fooled for a moment, Niall physically turns Harry to face him so Harry can’t see Louis anymore. “He’s straight. He has a girlfriend, one he’s serious about.”

“I know that. He told me stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff. About his past. And how she helped him. I get it, Ni, okay?” Harry shoves him away. “I’m not trying to come between them. I’m not trying to seduce him. If I’d wanted to, I’d have—but I didn’t. I haven’t. I’m not doing anything wrong. I just want to—” Take care of Louis. Cook for him and keep him warm and make sure nothing ever hurts him. “You and I are friends and I don’t try to seduce you.”

“I’m straight.”

“Li then. He and I have slept in the same bed, we’ve seen each other naked, we’ve cried in each other’s arms, and I love him with all my heart, but we’ve never ever been more than that.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve seen Louis naked.” Niall sounds like he’s joking, but his eyes burn with intensity. “It’s not the same, though, you and Louis.”

No, it’s not. “I still think something’s wrong,” Harry says, sliding away from that knowledge. Louis hasn’t glanced Harry’s way once and that itself is unsettling. Louis’ eyes are frequently on Harry, ascertaining where he is, sharing jokes that most of the others seem oblivious to, making sure he’s okay and enjoying himself and doesn’t need anything. Even when they’re not speaking, they’re constantly checking in with each other. Harry didn’t realise how accustomed he’s become to that until it’s been ripped away.

“We have several hours until our sunset game cruise.” Niall sounds resigned, not happy with Harry’s refusal to give up on Louis, but accepting it. “Maybe you can find a chance to catch up with him before then.”

Harry intends to.

*

After brunch, Zayn announces a voluntary trip into Kasane, the small town further up the river. Liam wants a new phone charger and Niall’s run out of shampoo, but Harry cries off with the excuse that he’s working on a song. Harry dealing with his feelings via lyrics is something they’re accustomed to and Harry sets himself up at the campsite bar with his laptop, looking engrossed and preoccupied, so they wave him goodbye without question, heading to Rafiki with most of the other passengers, since there’s not much else to do for the rest of the day until their river cruise at four o’clock. 

Harry waits just long enough to be sure Zayn doesn’t return having forgotten something, then he closes up his laptop and slides it back into its case. He’s on truck cleaning today so he didn’t have an excuse to hang around during dish washing to keep an eye on Louis, but he noted him slipping away through the group down towards the flooding Chobe River. 

The field beyond the bar is more like a lake, the outline of the swimming pool barely visible beneath the water, but there’s a ridge between the trees leading towards the river and Harry figures Louis must have followed it down since there’s nowhere else to go. He gives up on trying to protect his shoes. They haven’t fared well through all the foot-and-mouth cattle dips that Botswana insists travellers walk through at frequent check points, so he’ll have to abandon them soon anyway. Squelching his way along the muddy path, he scans through the trees for a sign of Louis. 

There.

Perched on a rock that juts out over the fast-flowing river, legs pulled up to his chest, his head down on his knees, bare arms wrapped around them. 

He’s clearly having private time. 

Harry shouldn’t be here, intruding. 

If Louis has ventured this far from the camp, he obviously wants to be alone with whatever’s going on with him.

Why couldn’t he at least have worn Harry’s hoodie so he could be warm while dealing with it?

How is Harry supposed to just leave him here when he’s cold and in some form of distress?

If he’d wanted company, he would have asked.

Would he, though? Harry doesn’t know him well, but Louis seems the type who doesn’t like showing vulnerability. Look at how hard it was for him to talk about his family in Ghanzi. 

Oh shit, what if his current state is a result of that conversation? What if he tried to contact them in some way after Harry’s encouragement and it went wrong and now he feels worse than he did before? 

How on earth is Harry meant to just let him be?

He’s not our business, Niall said, but Harry can’t help feeling that Louis is. Whatever concerns Louis concerns Harry, and Harry can’t change that just by wanting to. 

Louis lifts his head and Harry shrinks back into the trees. 

He has no right to be here.

Louis wants to be alone.

But he can’t make himself leave.

*

He finds a tree he can comfortably lean against. He can just glimpse Louis from there, enough to make sure Louis isn’t throwing himself into the river. Not that Harry thinks he would, but just in case, he wants to be sure to be able to dive in to save him in time. 

He tries not to watch Louis continuously. The river itself provides plenty of entertainment, rushing by dragging trees and other assorted debris with it, and he’s relaxed until he remembers the vicious crocodile that emerged from this very river this morning as well as the hippos that wander the bottom of the river looking like innocuous rocks, and alarm shakes away his somnolence. It’s not a friendly river.

But Louis wants to stay sitting up there on a rock that might not be high enough to protect him from crocodiles and hippos, so Harry will keep vigilant watch for them both.

He gets thirsty. Chilled from the breeze off the river as storm clouds build overhead. His bladder isn’t too happy with him either. 

Still, he watches.

“Are you planning to hide there all day?”

It takes a moment for the sound of Louis’ voice to register as words, longer still for Harry to make sense of them and what they imply. 

Louis knows that he’s here. Knows he’s been here all this time.

He slinks out from the trees, hovers at the base of Louis’ rock. “I didn’t want to force myself on you.”

“So you were just spying on me instead?”

“I wasn’t spying!”

“What were you doing then?”

“Being…” Harry’s not sure how to explain. “Available. If you needed me. Wanted me,” he amends, in case Louis takes offence, but, Jesus, that’s even worse. “I mean, if you want to talk to someone.”

Louis turns back to watch the river swirling around him. “Michelle’s been cheating on me,” he says expressionlessly. “For a year, almost.”

Holy shit. “I’m sorry.”

Louis shrugs a shoulder carelessly, as though it doesn’t matter, as though the discovery hadn’t sent him MIA for twenty-four hours. “Not your fault.”

“I know.” Harry’s been the one in this situation and he knows no words can help. “I’m still sorry that you’re going through this.”

Louis shrugs again. Now that he’s closer, Harry can see the goose bumps covering his arms and he shrugs out of his woollen cardigan and holds it out.

“Please wear this.”

Without turning his head, Louis glares at him out the corner of his eyes. Wet eyes, damn it. “I’m fine.”

What’s yet another overstep of boundaries when Harry’s already violated so many? He steps up on a little ledge of the rock and drapes it around Louis’ shoulders. “You can give it back to me when we return to camp.”

It’s a relief when Louis doesn’t jerk it off and throw it back at him. Instead he focuses on the churning water. 

Now that he’s openly here, Harry might as well make himself comfortable in case Louis decides to keep talking. He finds another rock a couple of feet from Louis’. It’s lower, closer to the water and potential crocodile attacks but he can keep a lookout. Since Louis isn’t sending him away, there’s no chance Harry’s leaving him. 

“How did you find out?” he asks after several minutes as thunder crackles in the background, confirming the scent of rain in the air. 

“Lauren.”

Louis says it like Harry should know who that is and he scours his brain for the sound of that name in Louis’ voice. Oh yes. “Michelle’s best friend? Tour leader Lauren?”

“She retired from tour leading.” Louis’ voice is scarily blank. “Married the guy who runs Elephant Sands a couple years ago.”

Ah, Lauren must be the girl Niall saw Louis go off with after they prepared lunch yesterday. “So she told you?”

“I asked her advice. Since she’s Michelle’s best mate and all.” Fiddling with the cardigan, Louis pulls it closer around his shoulders, his fingers playing with the buttons without doing them up. “Asked whether she reckoned Michelle would like me proposing in Zanzibar next month, for her birthday.” 

Harry winces. However he feels about Louis is irrelevant. His heart hurts for how much Louis must love Michelle and how devastated he must be now. “Was she going to join you in Zanzibar? Is that on your return trip?”

“Thought it’d be romantic. She’s not been there. Tropical island, exotic beaches. Seemed appropriate.” Louis laughs harshly. “I planned to surprise her with a plane ticket as an early birthday present when I reached Nairobi.”

God. Harry has no idea what to say.

“Her birthday’s our sixth anniversary. Well, would’ve been. If she hadn’t cheated on me and all. For a fucking year.”

Harry flinches at the sudden venom in Louis’ voice. “How did Lauren know?”

“Everyone knows, apparently. It’s with a bloke in our office, the new manager. He started at Southern Skies a year ago, went to her birthday party when I was in the Serengeti and couldn’t even call her. He took her home and she’s been fucking him ever since. Everyone in the company knows. Everyone on the circuit knows, bloody gossips, the lot of them. All the other guides. Everyone from here to Nairobi. They all knew. Except for me.”

Much as Harry longs to pull Louis into his arms for comfort, he doesn’t dare move. Louis hasn’t looked at him since he began speaking. He’s not blank, like Harry thought. He’s seething. 

“Have you contacted her?” he asks when Louis falls silent.

Louis nods. “Called her last night. Needed to hear her say it. Confirm it.”

“And she did?”

Thunder crashes right above them as Louis laughs again. “Lauren had already told her I knew. Apparently Lauren’s been trying to persuade her for months to tell me. Know why she didn’t?”

“Why?”

“Because she felt too fucking sorry for me.” Louis spits out the words, voice as fierce as the thunder. “She said she knew I had nowhere to go. No one to go to. Not even a home. She couldn’t bear to hurt me, kicking me out like that.”

“Then she shouldn’t have cheated,” Harry can’t help saying. His anger won’t help Louis, but it’s hard to find any charitable feelings towards Michelle right now. 

“She fell in love,” Louis says, voice suddenly small. Sliding his arms into the arms of the cardigan, he hugs them around his knees again. “She hasn’t loved me for years, she said. She liked me, but—I don’t think she ever wanted me to stay. I was a fling while she was abroad. Never meant for permanence. I’m too loud for her, too rowdy. Too closed down emotionally. Too difficult in general, fuck.”

Harry’s fists are clenched so tightly it hurts. He focuses on that pain rather than how much Louis’ pain is hurting him. “You’re not difficult, Lou,” he murmurs. 

“She thought I was. This homeless lost boy she was landed with.” Louis turns to look at him and the anguish in his eyes scorches Harry. “She could’ve just told me, you know? I’d’ve gone. I can look after myself. I didn’t need her to provide. I didn’t need to her to feel so goddamn sorry for me she lied to my face about being together when she was off fucking someone else behind my back and falling in love with him and telling every single person we knew except for me.”

“Did Zayn know?”

Louis’ eyes close as he exhales. “No. Thank fuck. They know how tight we are so they kept it from him too.” There’s that chilling, ragged laugh again. “Don’t think I could ever talk to him again if he knew and didn’t tell me.”

That’s good. At least Louis hasn’t lost everyone. “I’m glad he wasn’t lying to you too,” he says carefully. 

“He wants to kill her,” Louis says. “I think he’s more angry than I am.”

Harry’s angry too. He’s so angry he feels like he might vibrate right off this rock to explode in the storm that’s building overhead, but that wouldn’t be fair to Louis. That’s not what Louis needs right now. Harry isn’t the one with any rights to feel angry, especially considering that he’s essentially been tempting Louis to cheat on Michelle. 

But Louis didn’t. Louis adamantly ensured everything remained strictly platonic between them. 

Of course, Louis was also planning to propose to Michelle and intending to spend the rest of his life as her loving husband. 

And Harry’s still not entirely certain of Louis’ sexuality.

And none of this is about him and what the fuck is he thinking?

“You have every right to feel angry,” he says. “It was a shitty thing she did.”

Louis doesn’t answer. He stares at the river, blinking his eyes repeatedly, and Harry aches for him. 

“It’s also okay to cry,” he murmurs. “It might help.”

“Crying helps nothing,” Louis snaps. He rubs the heel of his hand against each eye in turn and scowls at the wind. “It won’t fix it. It won’t fix _me_.”

Harry can’t have that. “Lou, you don’t need fixing. You’re—you’re, like, perfect, just as you are. Maybe you—you know, maybe you weren’t perfect for Michelle, and she obviously wasn’t perfect for you because look what she did, but you’re perfect for—for you. As you. And that’s all you need to be.”

“I failed as a son.” Louis slams his fist into his thigh. “I failed as a brother. Now I failed as a bloody boyfriend. I’m not perfect, Harry. Not in any way.”

“You are, though.” Harry won’t let him think he’s a failure. “You’re perfect as Louis, and Louis is all you need to be.”

Oh no, he didn’t mean to be the reason Louis cries. He was trying to be encouraging, but Louis’ lower lip trembles before he buries his face in his knees, shoulders shaking violently. Harry surges up but then stops himself before he reaches Louis’ rock. He can’t presume that Louis wants to be touched in the midst of his falling apart. 

“Haz,” Louis gasps, and that’s all Harry needs. He leaps up onto the rock and wedges himself behind Louis so he can wrap himself fully around him from the back, since it’s too narrow to sit beside him. Louis feels fragile in his arms, and Harry leans over to rest his cheek against Louis’ shoulder, enveloping him entirely and shielding him from the wind. 

“’s okay, Lou,” he whispers. “It’s okay to cry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	19. Chapter 19

**Day 19 - Louis**

**Chobe National Park, Botswana to Livingstone, Zambia**

Today will be another five o’clock start and Louis doesn’t sleep much as he waits for his alarm to ring, lying rigid beneath his blanket while Zayn slumbers happily, trying not to shrivel up from the shame that’s drowning him.

He can’t decide which is worse: the whole of Africa knowing that Michelle was cheating on him or her not breaking up with him out of pity. 

Or the fact that he blabbed it all out to Harry Styles and then cried in his arms.

Can men get hot flushes? Or is it just intense humiliation repeatedly burning through him?

Does he come across as that needy? That incapable? That…feeble?

Even Harry, who’s two years younger and barely able to stay on his own two feet, wanted to take care of him.

Is that the real reason why his mother didn’t tell him the truth? Because she thought he was too weak to handle it?

Apparently she was right.

Fuck.

It’s mortifying. How is he meant to show his face around the overland crews again? They’re headed for Livingstone and Victoria Falls later this morning, the biggest centre in Africa for overland adventure. He has three and a half days off and usually spends them hanging out with the other crews, catching up on news from the road, swapping updates on road conditions and grocery shortages and general gossip. 

General gossip. 

Which he has been a part of for everyone but himself.

There’s that hot flush again, damn it.

Patrick and Sabelo knew. When they brought the new truck and Patrick gave him the koeksisters from Michelle, they knew that she was actually with someone else. 

How is he ever meant to go back to Cape Town to face them?

Do they all know why she never told him? Have they all been sorry for the poor little boy from England whose mother died and who ran away and lost himself everything and everyone?

Is he a general figure of pity amongst the overland community?

Ha, so much for Harry’s notions of perfection. Louis is as far from perfect as a man could get—and he can’t bear to think about those huge green eyes so filled with resolution as Harry proclaimed Louis to be perfect just as he is. 

How is he meant to look at Harry again after disintegrating into a sobbing mess?

He made Harry cry too. Harry’s eyes were red, his face ravaged, for the entire afternoon, even when he came back from the sunset cruise Louis insisted he go on because he couldn’t tolerate the constant compassion emanating from the man. He can’t bear for Harry to feel sorry for him. 

He can’t bear Harry right now at all. He’s denied himself Harry for weeks. And for what? For a lying, cheating girlfriend who wasn’t even his anymore? 

He wants to storm into Harry’s tent and demand, “Fuck me, please.” He wants everything of Harry, every bit of him, every kiss, every touch, the deepest penetration Harry can manage. Harry wants him, he knows that. Harry would take him and love him and afterwards Louis would loathe himself for using his kindness because Louis can never be Harry’s. He isn’t what Harry wants for the long term, he can’t give him what he deserves. It would just be for momentary comfort, like crying in his arms by the river, and that would be unforgivable. 

Louis can’t be that person. He’s failed enough in every way; he can’t fail Harry too.

At least he has several days off after today. He’ll deposit his charges in Livingstone and find a solitary corner to hide in and wallow in his misery and general uselessness, and somehow figure out a way to cope with the remaining three weeks of the journey north. 

*

Kazungula ferry crossing is one of the banes of Louis’ tour leader life. Across the mighty Zambezi, only two little pontoon ferries punt back and forth over four hundred metres of rushing river. Trucks queue up for several miles on each side since only one can fit on a ferry at a time, along with a car if it’s a small truck. Fortunately Zayn gets priority over the trucks that are shipping goods, but even so it can be a long wait once Louis gets his passengers across to Zambia. This crossing at the worst of times can take six or seven hours out of a day, which is why he insists on leaving the camp at five so they are right at the head of the day’s queues when the border officially opens at six o’clock. 

His passengers are half asleep as they go through the motions of breakfast and taking down tents and packing the truck. They’re easier to control like this, and when Zayn deposits them at the Botswanan border, they obligingly let Louis herd them along to be processed out of the country. 

A few wake up when they reach the edge of the wide river to wait for the first ferry of the day to arrive.

“It’s the fourth-largest river in Africa,” Louis overhears Liam excitedly telling a largely comatose Harry and Niall. Rolf and Annette join them, more attentive. “This is where I told you about the meeting point of the four countries, H.”

Harry blinks repeatedly as he looks around, his eyes still puffy and red. “Where?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“In the middle of the river.” Liam points.

Harry doesn’t look impressed. “There’s not a point where you can stand?”

Since Louis knows the importance Harry places on accurate information, he pulls his tour leader façade more closely around him (although it’s probably undermined by the fact that he’s snuggled inside Harry’s blue hoodie again) and drifts towards them. “They’ve actually decided there isn’t a quadripoint,” he informs the little group. Harry’s face lights up when he turns and that’s the expression Louis always wants to see on his face, not the empathic distress of yesterday. “There was a row about it in the seventies, in fact, when South Africa, who were occupying Namibia at the time, declared this ferry to be illegal because they said there was no common border between Botswana and Zambia. There was a confrontation and shots were fired.”

Harry’s eyes pop open and Louis feels his first stirrings of humour since Lauren’s bombshell. 

“A few years later,” he continues, now openly directing his comments to Harry, “Zimbabwe, which was called Rhodesia at the time and was engaged in a civil war, sank the ferry because they thought it was being used for guerrilla purposes. But then the governments began discussions for the bridge that you can see being built over there.” He points at the half-built structure that’s meant to open next year, but he’s lost all hope of counting on it after years of delays. “They had to have serious negotiations about which countries it might pass through when they built it, and in the end they agreed a joint boundary between Zambia and Botswana of about a hundred and fifty metres that the bridge could safely pass through and not impact Zimbabwe or Namibia.”

“So they no longer all join in one place?” Liam clarifies.

“No, not with the bridge. But it took literally years of arguments to decide that.”

“So it used to?” Harry asks.

“Pretty much. But, hey,” Louis doesn’t like to see their general disappointment, “you can still see all four countries from where you’re standing. This is Botswana, to the left beyond the bridge is Namibia, across the river is Zambia, and to the right is Zimbabwe.”

The group turns to look in each direction he points and Harry sidles closer. “We were in Switzerland once,” he confides, “and we were, like, up a mountain and from there we could see Switzerland, France and Italy. I thought that was amazing, but this is even better.”

“It’s special, yeah,” Louis agrees. “This border crossing does my head in, but I always try to appreciate the surroundings.”

Harry’s wearing the green and brown scarf today, the colouring matching the world around him, and he resituates it in his curls. “Are we allowed to take pictures here?”

“Theoretically no, since it’s a border, although if you’re surreptitious about it, they usually don’t mind. But you left your camera on the truck like I told you, right?”

“Yeah, but I have my phone.” Harry fishes his iPhone out from the pocket of his tight denim shorts. “You must be looking forward to them finishing that bridge. The crossing will be much faster then, won’t it?”

“A watched bridge is never completed,” Louis jokes. “It was meant to open last year, now they’re saying next year, but who knows.”

“You’ll have to send me a picture when you do your first trip over it.” Harry’s surprisingly good at stealthily photographing their surroundings. He’s not even looking at his phone, just glancing down for a second occasionally as he moves it. “Take a selfie halfway across for me.”

“Okay.”

“You promise?”

Louis meets Harry’s intense gaze. Despite Louis’ embarrassing meltdown yesterday, Harry still wants to remain in contact, possibly years into the future. That warms him enough to reach out and take one of Harry’s hands in his. “I promise.”

*

They pile onto the pontoon around a small freight lorry and a station wagon. 

“Hey, Louis,” Michael shouts, “how likely is this thing to sink?”

It’s not a heavily laden truck, so Louis feels reasonably confident in replying, “Not at all.”

“Has it ever?” Harry boarded right beside Louis and hovers beside him as Louis counts to make sure all of his passengers are on board before the ferry shoves off. 

Everyone’s accounted for, so Louis leans back against the slender rail between him and the raging river. “There’ve been a few accidents over the years,” he admits, reaching out to place one of Harry’s hands on the rail when the ferry begins to move. “The last one people died in was in 2003 when they allowed a severely overloaded truck on board and it tilted the ferry to the side and ended up rolling over and falling into the water.”

Harry eyes the lorry next to them. “If that rolled over onto us, we’d be crushed.”

“Or be forced into the river beneath it,” Louis agrees, hoping Michael is too far away to hear him. 

“With the crocodiles,” Harry says darkly. 

“Did you see some yesterday?”

“Yes.” 

It doesn’t sound like it was a happy experience. “Yeah,” Louis confirms, “people were not only crushed and drowned, but the survivors were attacked by crocodiles.”

Harry shivers. “How do you live like this?” he asks, staring down at the silver dawn water rushing past them. They’re reaching the deepest part of the river now, amidst the strongest current on its way to Victoria Falls a few miles further downstream. “I mean, I know you get to see a lot of spectacular scenery, but there’s so much, like, danger everywhere.”

“I don’t think about it, really.” Louis tries to think about it now. Over the years he’s adapted, learned what’s safe and what isn’t, how to minimise risks, and you generally have to be pretty unlucky to ever truly find your life endangered. Or stupid, and Louis isn’t that. “London’s full of knife crime, and people still live there.”

“I haven’t been to London much,” Harry muses, “but I’m moving there to do my internship after this trip is over, and my legal practice course will be there too.”

“You’re doing an internship?”

“Yeah, at a solicitor’s office. See if I like the real thing.”

“You’re not sure?”

Harry gives him a little vague smile. “You know, like, I think so? I hope so? But how do you really know if you can until you do something? I don’t know if I’ll like living in London. Liam and Niall lived there last year and I visited a few times, and just before we left for Cape Town I signed the lease for a little studio near them so I’ll have somewhere to go when we get back, but before London, the biggest city I’d lived in was Manchester.”

“Manchester’s cool, though.”

“Have you been?”

“It’s where I was at uni. Same as you.”

“Still think you’d make a great teacher, Lou.”

Louis shrugs off the firm belief in Harry’s voice. “I always wanted to be an actor when I was younger. Or a singer, like Niall. It’s stupid, but I auditioned for _X Factor_ twice in the hopes it would make me an instant star.”

“I nearly did, once,” Harry says. “But then I thought I’d be more likely to have success as a lawyer. How did you do?”

“Not well.” Louis doesn’t like to remember those days of boyhood dreams. “You should have, though. Your voice is gorgeous.”

“I get stage fright. Like, badly.” Harry’s casual shrug belies his pained words. “I started having nightmares about being up on stage and not being able to sing and being trapped there alone in the spotlight while everyone laughed at me.”

“I wouldn’t laugh at you.”

Stepping closer, Harry nudges Louis’ shoulder with his arm. “I know you wouldn’t. I’d like to hear you sing, though.”

“I’m rubbish. There’s a reason they didn’t put me through.” Remembering the humiliation of his experiences there, the callous rejection, he wonders if maybe that’s why he decided to pursue the teaching side of drama later instead of the performance side. He doesn’t get stage fright like Harry, he loves nothing better than to be the centre of attention, but he’s never dealt with rejection well. 

Like now. With Michelle. Who he’s managed to forget about for a whole wonderful hour. 

“We’re almost in Zambia.” Nudging Harry back, he points towards the approaching shore. “Another new country for you. How many does that make so far?”

“Twenty-four.”

“A lot more than me.” Louis may spend his life on the road but it’s merely back and forth through the same eight countries. 

“There are still so many,” Harry laments. “Niall took a gap year before uni and travelled through South America. He has so many cool stories from that trip.”

“Some of the big overland companies do trips through South America,” Louis says. It’s something he never considered before but suddenly that’s a possibility open to him. “You can go right the way from Ushuaia at the southern tip of Argentina up to Anchorage in Alaska.”

“Are you considering that?”

“I hadn’t.” It’s a way to see more of the world, though. A way to avoid returning to England with his tail between his legs. “They do central Asia as well, the Great Silk Way and all that. Istanbul to Beijing.”

“We went to Istanbul once. It was only for a few days but I loved it. I want to go back.” Harry grins down at him. “I can say I’ve been to Asia because we crossed the Bosphorus Bridge that links the European part of Istanbul with the Asian part.”

Louis had no idea that Europe and Asia meet in the middle of Istanbul. “I have to go there!”

“You will,” Harry says certainly. “I’m not sure if it’s as exciting as four countries meeting, though.”

“It’s two continents meeting. That’s huge.”

“Yeah. It kinda is. I loved it.”

“Do you have pictures?”

“A few. Not with me, but some on Instagram. I can show you, if you’re interested, when we get decent internet.”

“In Livingstone. We’ll have great internet for several days.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says, suddenly distracted as the ferry pulls up onto the bank on the Zambian side. “Liam was looking forward to uploading a bunch of videos there. Do we really just get off onto the sand here?”

“Count yourself lucky,” Louis advises after he checks out the situation. “At least we’re close enough that you won’t have to wade through several feet of water to reach the bank.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “But the crocodiles!”

Louis winks. “You won’t be bait for them today.”

He leaves Harry to push to the front so he can supervise the disembarking of his passengers. Thank fuck there’s no wading today, so Michael has no cause for complaint. Even so, the man gives Louis a very dark look as he steps onto the wet sand. 

“This will be a far better experience when that bridge is built,” he declares.

Considering the circumstances, Louis thinks they’ve had an excellent experience. The drivers of the freight trucks can wait for weeks to get their turn to cross, while Michael boarded the first ferry of the day and is in Zambia before the sun’s fully risen. “Make sure to come back then,” he replies with a cheerful grin. “We offer return clients a twenty percent discount on future trips.”

“I want to do one of the trips you offer through South Africa,” Yolanda says as she passes Louis with Carlie and Hayley. “Along the Garden Route and up to the Drakensberg Mountains?”

“That’s a great one,” he confirms, although he’s never been. “Come back when you’ve finished your round-the-world trip, and like I say, twenty percent discount.”

“Does that apply if we’re able to save up again to do the rest of this trip to Nairobi?” Nicole asks as she and Rachel head for the shore. “It’s killing us that this is the end of our journey.”

“It applies to all trips.” He steps onto the sand himself as Rachel gives him a hug. He’s going to miss these two a lot. 

Not so much Marya and Jim, who are also leaving here. Jim plans to spend the next few months running his digital consultancy from Bali, and Marya’s decided to drop out of university to join him. Given that she’s already a month late for the resumption of classes for this semester, Louis isn’t surprised. He’s grateful to her for keeping Jim occupied for the last three weeks since he was one that Louis marked as potential trouble from the start, a loudmouth leader type capable of turning the general mood negative if he didn’t enjoy himself. Fortunately he’s been distracted by all the sex they’ve been sneaking around to have, as if Louis wasn’t aware of exactly who slept where every night. It never fails to amuse him how passengers think they can get away with a tent version of musical chairs. Yolanda’s been bunking in with Carlie and Hayley more often than not so Marya can have Jim in with her. Since none of the three of them seemed to mind squeezing into a tent made for two, Louis hasn’t had to intervene. 

It’s left Nathan on his own, but to everyone’s surprise he’s started hanging out with Rose and Louis frequently discovers him deep in conversation with the retired Singaporean. What they’re discussing he has no idea, but considering how volatile Nathan was when he started the trip, and how clearly he was looking for a rebound fuck, given the way he targeted Harry at the beginning, it’s interesting that he’s moved on to hours-long conversations with a woman three times his age. Louis approves. Hopefully he’s learning valuable insights and will return to Johannesburg this weekend a better and happier person. 

Sure enough, they disembark the ferry together and Louis overhears mention of Hercules. They’re discussing Greek mythology? Not what Louis would have guessed. 

The final group is one he’s accustomed to seeing together: Harry, Liam and Niall with the German dancers and Duncan and Danny. Harry’s retelling the sinking ferry and crocodiles story with animation. Annette looks horrified, but the rest are fascinated. Once ashore, Duncan turns to evaluate the little pontoon and he, Rolf and Danny plunge into a vigorous debate about angles and maximum gross load, which isn’t a term that sounds very appealing to Louis. He’s never loved anything that involves numbers and calculations. 

With everyone safely on Zambian soil, Louis shepherds them towards the low brick building where they’ll be processed legally into their new country. Zayn texts to say he’s secured a place three ferries from now, which isn’t as bad as it could have been given the way the priority system is influenced by bribery, which both Louis and Zayn abstain from at all costs, not just as a matter of company policy but because neither of them find it acceptable. One of the drivers Louis used to be paired with was liberal with his bribes across Africa. Sure, it made some things a lot easier, and James reasoned that was the way of things and it was ridiculous of the company not to allow them to partake, but Louis doesn’t fancy breaking the law in any way and fortunately neither does Zayn. Usually Louis’ quick thinking and clever way with words can navigate them through corruption unscathed, and for a skinny guy, Zayn’s capable of making himself look surprisingly intimidating in the background. 

There’s no real place to wait, they just have to congregate at the side of the muddy road in the sun. For once, Niall doesn’t have his guitar since it’s advised to leave all personal belongings on the truck, bar the essential, for Zayn to negotiate through customs, but he and Liam seem to have been inspired by something to do with Harry’s tale of the ferry sinking and they find an overturned barrel and sit down with Harry’s notebook, which he procures from another tight pocket, developing lyrics. 

That’s good, Louis tells himself. After he monopolised Harry on the ferry, this is the perfect opportunity for him to spend some quality time with the rest of his passengers, especially the ones whose tour finishes up in Livingstone. 

“I’ll miss you,” Hayley says, nestling in for a hug. She’s needed a lot of physical reassurance on this trip and Louis is happy to give it as long as he’s certain it won’t be misunderstood. Hayley doesn’t seem like she’s used to getting hugs, but she’s adapted quickly and revels in them now. 

He cuddles her close. “Gonna miss you too, Hays.”

“I’ll miss you calling me that.” 

“Introduce yourself as that at the rescue farm when you start your volunteering. Then every time anyone calls your name, you can think of me.”

She likes that idea. “Are you on Facebook? I don’t want to lose touch.”

It’s a common question he’s asked, but he closed his Facebook account after his mother’s death and prefers to have an invisible online presence as Louis Tomlinson. “I’ll give you my Instagram,” he promises. “I don’t post on it very much, but you can write to me on there if you like, and I’ll follow you back and keep up with your volunteering adventures.”

“Thank you.” 

“Can we do that too?” Rachel asks. 

“Of course. Are you staying for the booze cruise tomorrow?” The Cape Town to Livingstone group are given one night of accommodation as part of the trip, but most elect to book another night or two so they can enjoy all the exciting activities the Victoria Falls region has to offer. Louis generally organises for all who want to join a sunset cruise on the Zambezi above the Falls the evening after their arrival day and it functions as a kind of goodbye party for those leaving the tour. 

“Yes, we’re flying out the next morning.”

“I’m staying too,” Hayley says, “and so are Jim and Marya. I don’t know about Nathan or Rose.”

Louis isn’t sure that Rose is the booze cruise type, but Nathan probably is. “I’ll check with them. We’ll have a proper good send off for you lot, yeah? And I’ll swap information with you to make sure we don’t lose contact.” As enthusiastic as his passengers usually are to stay in touch, he rarely hears from most of them again after the intensity of the trip wears off and they’re subsumed into their lives back home. But some keep it up even years later, regularly commenting on the sporadic pictures he posts, and he repays their interest by liking their posts and commenting when he can. 

They all cheer when they see Zayn and Rafiki successfully traverse the narrow ramp off the ferry. The harder work for Zayn comes now with the border officials, and Louis keeps his charges distracted with entertaining stories about past crossings and answering questions about the activities at Victoria Falls. It’s one of the world’s top outdoor adventure sites, which is why the Cape Town-Nairobi trip schedules three and a half days there for people to indulge. Louis splurges his money each trip to afford the booze cruise and contents himself with that. He’s here on business, after all, not for pleasure. It’s enough for him to get to see the Falls itself, and to sleep late and eat food cooked by others and socialise with his fellow tour leaders. But he’s heard enough from past passengers to be able to recommend highlight activities and helps most of the group decide on their core choices. 

“When we arrive at the Waterfront campsite,” he tells them, “you’ll get to watch a video to explain them all in detail and you might change your mind, but it helps if you’ve already thought about it since you have to book it all first thing.”

“What’s your favourite, Louis?” Nicole asks. 

His eyes flicker across to Harry, who isn’t hunched over his notebook but appears to be trying to listen in. Damn. “The elephant ride is pretty special,” he says carefully. “It’s not like in India where they’re captives. These are wild elephants who volunteer, they live in the forest and choose whether or not to join in when called. You sit on them like you would a horse, legs astride right on their back, and ride for an hour through the African bush. This is one of the only places in the whole of Africa where you can do that, and I reckon seeing Africa from the back of an elephant must be fucking incredible.”

Harry’s eyes narrow and Louis realises too late that his wording insinuated the truth. 

“It’s not for every adrenalin junkie,” he rushes on, “but if you love the animals and love Africa, I would definitely recommend giving it a go.”

“What about the bungee jumping?” Yolanda asks. “You jump off the bridge into the gorge below the Falls, right?”

That’s the activity Louis most envies his passengers. He tries to justify the price to himself on every trip, but considering he also has to pay for the booze cruise and his rental contributions to Michelle—which, come to think of it, won’t apply any more since she told him she would box his stuff up and leave it at the office for him to collect. Maybe he should think about doing one of the activities—but no. He can’t. He’ll need to save every cent he can to rent somewhere temporary to stay when he returns to Cape Town. Or if he plans to get a job with a company that overlands on other continents, he’ll need a lot of travel and start-up costs. He can’t risk it, not for what amounts to two minutes of ecstasy. 

“I highly recommend that as well,” he tells Yolanda brightly. As he does, his eyes flicker towards Harry, but Harry’s safely studying his notebook and not scouring Louis’ face for lies. “It’s fantastic.”

*

He’s nearly free, he tells himself when he swings up into the cab beside Zayn. “Reckon we’ll make Vic Falls by, what, eleven?”

Zayn nods, his attention on finessing his way through the growing border crowds to the freedom of the road to Livingstone. “Easy.”

Two hours at the Falls, another hour settling people in at the camp and connecting them with the activities coordinator, and he’ll be done until the cruise tomorrow night. If he’s not blowing his money on a bungee jump, maybe he can justify a couple of six packs and get shitfaced tonight. That should help him sleep. He should be exhausted after two nights of lying awake, should be incoherent and almost unconscious, but his blood still burns every time he thinks about Michelle. 

Her voice on the phone. 

“I fell in love, Louis, and that made me realise I don’t think I ever was in love with you.”

Why the fuck did she say she was then? She wanted to marry him, he knows she did. She certainly hinted enough about weddings and a future together.

“I didn’t know how to tell you. You always seemed so sad.”

No, he fucking didn’t. Maybe he was neglectful, focused more on surfing when he was home than on her, but he didn’t seem _sad._

“Do I seem _sad_ to you?” he asks Zayn, pronouncing the word with revulsion. “Is that what you see when you look at me? Do you see me and think: that Louis, he always looks so sad?”

Zayn gives him a narrow-eyed glare. “You’re the most upbeat person I know.”

“Exactly. Thank you!” Fucking Michelle. Louis is not _sad._ “Am I weak?” he continues. “Do you not tell me things because you think I’m too weak to handle them?”

“Your job is to handle things.” Zayn rolls his eyes and sighs. “She was being a bitch to you because she felt guilty. Don’t pay her any attention.”

Louis didn’t pay her enough attention, that was the whole problem. Maybe he didn’t love her, either. Maybe he doesn’t even know what love means. 

He loved his mother.

She didn’t tell him about dying.

He loved his sisters and the twins.

That didn’t stop him abandoning them.

Love hasn’t worked out too well for him so far. Maybe he’s better off without it. 

He pulls up his legs beneath him on the seat and considers Zayn’s profile. Does he love Zayn? Zayn’s his best friend. Zayn knows more about him than even Michelle did. No, but remember? He didn’t even know the basic details of Zayn’s life, so what kind of fucking friend was he when Harry was able to find them out over a single meal?

Harry.

Louis does not love Harry. He barely knows Harry. 

There’d be no point, anyway, because Harry is leaving in three and a half weeks for his fancy lawyer life in London. Louis loathes London. Louis is going to South America or Central Asia. Fuck knows he can’t stay in Africa after this. And there’s no work for overland tour leaders in London, not much for university dropouts, either. 

Shit, though, what about Zayn? Louis can’t leave him behind.

Does he really have to stay with Southern Skies and face everyone down? He feels sick at the thought of walking into the office when he gets back to Cape Town after the return trip. 

Maybe it’s time he starts facing things. Maybe that’s the lesson he needs to learn—

Oh, for God’s sake, can his brain just SHUT UP! 

“Distract me,” he demands. “Say anything, I don’t care. Just talk.”

“Put some of your rap on,” Zayn suggests. “You can turn it as loud as you want and I won’t object.”

That might work. Louis’ not a big fan of rap music, but sometimes it’s the only thing that works. He flips through several options and settles for an album where he knows all the words and his brain can get so busy singing along it doesn’t have time to upset him. 

*

“Welcome to Victoria Falls, everyone.” Louis clambers up into the main section of the truck, feeling somewhat more stable than he did earlier. “Otherwise known as Mosi-oa-Tunya, or the Smoke that Thunders. It’s the largest waterfall in the world at one point seven kilometres wide, just over a mile, and over a hundred metres high, or three hundred and fifty feet. Anyone know which is the highest waterfall?”

“Angel Falls,” Yolanda shouts. “I’m going there in Venezuela in April!”

He leans forward to give her a high five. “That’s right.”

“I’m also going to Iguazu Falls in Brazil. How does that compare?”

Louis feels a strange little thrill at the thought that maybe in a couple of months’ time he might be in South America introducing a new set of charges to Iguazu Falls. “That’s the closest rival to Victoria Falls,” he says. “None of the individual falls there are close to as high as Victoria, but there are a couple hundred falls altogether. You’ll have to send me pictures when you get there, yeah?”

“No worries.” She holds up her hand for another high five, grinning broadly. Yolanda is definitely his favourite kind of passenger, endlessly enthusiastic about the sights, always cheerful despite the rigours of overland travel. 

“We’re going to spend two hours here,” he continues. Due to the intense rainy season this year, it’s going to be very full so I’d advise taking advantage of the plastic rain ponchos on offer, or you’ll end up very wet. You’ll probably end up wet anyway if you go down to Knife Edge Bridge, which I highly recommend as an experience not to be missed. Anyone with cameras, take precautions.” 

He pats Hayley’s shoulder as he starts moving down the aisle towards the back of the truck. She’s already buckling her camera into protective gear.

“My only warning is to beware of the baboons. Do not take any food items with you and keep an eye on them because they are known to try and grab anything you’re holding.”

“Like even a bag?” Carlie asks.

“Yep. So leave as much as you can in the truck. And I mean it about food, people. I know it’s almost lunch time and you’re probably hungry, but if you want to eat anything, eat it now.”

Harry holds up a banana with a cheeky smirk. “So I shouldn’t take this with me then?”

“Eat it _now_ , Harriet. Before I open this door.”

A general flurry passes through the truck as people quickly rummage for their snacks. The timing of their visit to the Falls is unfortunate, since breakfast was a long time ago. He usually tries to remind people to eat their snacks on the road from Kazungula, but he forgot that today. Casually, he leans against the lockers at the back of the truck to wait. Harry is the only person facing him, and he keeps his eyes on Louis as he peels back the skin of the banana he obviously saved from breakfast and raises it to his mouth.

Holy hell, this is not an image Louis was prepared for. 

Harry sucks the banana into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, holding his gaze steady as he does so and Louis jerks his eyes away. This is not an appropriate reaction to be having to one of his passengers innocently eating a piece of fruit. 

But he can’t stop himself from glancing back. 

It’s even worse. Harry’s hand is wrapped around the lower half of the banana softly squeezing, which can’t be good for the banana at all but is even worse for Louis, and it’s the most unacceptable timing imaginable. 

“Two minutes, everyone,” he yells and, turning his back on Harry, hops down to swing open the back door of the truck. 

As so often happens, despite being the closest person to the door other than Liam and Niall, Harry is the last to get out. He trips down the high steps and Louis reflexively reaches out to catch his arm. 

Harry straightens with a low chuckle that doesn’t help Louis’ uncomfortable situation. “Thanks.”

Has his voice always been this deep? “You’re welcome,” Louis says, trying not to sound sarcastic in self-defence. “Is your camera water-protected?”

“Yes, Louis.”

“Don’t hold it in your hand when you’re not actively taking pictures—”

“—or the baboons will snatch it from me, I know.”

Shit, he’s still holding Harry’s arm. He quickly lets go. “Good lad.”

“I can be very good,” Harry murmurs, and that fucking smirk is back on his face and it’s so much better than yesterday’s devastation on Louis’ behalf that he can’t even resent Harry for his insinuations.

“Run along now.” He pats Harry’s forearm like he patted Hayley earlier. “You only have two hours to make the most of one of the wonders of the world.”

Solemnly, but with his mouth twitching, Harry pats him right back. “You’re coming too, aren’t you?”

Louis usually does but he’s feeling too edgy this morning to cope with a thundering waterfall. Zayn’s already passed out in the cab after the stress of the border, and the last thing Louis wants to do is wander around steep cliffs and slippery footpaths on his own when he hasn’t slept for two nights and can’t control his wayward thoughts. “Think I’ll have a nap, actually.”

“Harry!” Liam and Niall have purchased ponchos and Niall’s holding one out to Harry as he calls his name. “You coming or what?”

“You’ll get great footage here,” Louis assures him. 

Harry takes a couple of steps in their direction, but then he looks back at Louis and holds out his hand. “Please come.”

It feels like more than an invitation to join Harry and his friends to see Victoria Falls. The already deafening sound of the water turns into a roar through his head as he stares at Harry’s outstretched hand. 

Louis wants to take it more than anything.

He has no right to.

“Lou, please.”

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, clasping both hands behind his back to keep from grabbing for Harry.

“You should,” Harry argues. “It might help you feel better. I mean, obviously I know it won’t make everything okay, but it’ll be fun. I’ll get you a poncho.”

“No, Harry, I can’t let you—”

“You got that sun stuff for me. You protected me from the sun, Louis. Let me protect you from—well, not the rain, but—from the river?”

Harry’s face contorts hilariously as he tries to figure out the right terminology for the spray shooting up into the sky from the waterfall and Louis is startled into a chuckle. “My knight in plastic armour,” he jokes, and Harry barks out a laugh of his own. 

Louis doesn’t allow himself to take Harry’s hand. That’s a step too far, horribly inappropriate, and he wants it far too badly to let it happen. Instead he starts running towards the poncho sellers and Harry, alarmed that Louis intends to buy his own poncho, dashes after him. 

Avoiding the prowling baboons, the four of them head into the dense rainforest. Louis holds back at first, uncomfortable at imposing himself into a group he isn’t actually a member of, especially when one of the members told him off so sternly not forty-eight hours ago. But Niall doesn’t object to his presence, doesn’t even scowl in his direction when Harry makes it clear that Louis is joining them. Has Harry told them? Do they, too, feel pity for him now? 

Sad little fucking Louis.

No.

That is not what he’s going to be. 

Not anymore.

If that’s how he’s been coming across, he’s done. 

“Come on, mates,” he cries, hurrying ahead. “Last one to the Knife Edge Bridge has to run across it without his shirt on!”

Maybe he should have thought more carefully before issuing his challenge because it’s obvious who the loser will be. Louis goes head to head with Liam through the wild waterfall spray, pulling back just slightly at the last second to allow Liam his determined victory. Niall crashes down the rocky steps into Liam’s arms just behind them, and when Louis catches his breath, he looks up to see Harry sauntering down the wet stairway, that hint of a smirk on his face, drenched curls sticking to his rosy cheeks. 

“Come on, Harry,” Liam rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “As if we didn’t all know it would be you. You could at least try.”

“There’s no rail,” Harry points out, gesturing at the way the cliffs drop away from the path on either side, protected by only a few scraggy plants. “I didn’t want Louis to think he had to, you know, dive after me if I slipped.”

“I’d dive after you, mate,” Niall says indignantly. 

“You’re not responsible for me, though.” Harry slides the strap of his camera over his head and hands it to Louis. 

“Don’t give this to me,” Louis says in alarm, inexplicably terrified that his usually capable hands will drop thousands of pounds worth of camera into the churning water three hundred feet below. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shirt,” Harry says. Next comes his plastic poncho, which he hands to Louis as well. 

“Hang on a sec.”

Harry pauses, hands gripping the bottom of his Rolling Stones t-shirt. “You didn’t mean it?”

“He just wants to show off his four nipples,” Liam puts in, his video camera recording everything through its protective case. 

“C’mon, H,” Niall shouts, “show us the goods!”

Louis’ suddenly very invested in Harry taking off his shirt. “Four nipples, Haz?”

“You’ve seen them,” Harry says, pointing through the sodden material to either side of where Louis knows his butterfly is.

“He has?” Liam asks.

“I haven’t,” Louis hurries to assure him as Harry starts lifting his shirt. “I just saw the butterfly once. Haz, hold on, you’re going to dislodge your scarf. Let me help you.” 

He doesn’t think before moving, hands Harry’s belongings over to Niall and steps forward through the spray to pull Harry’s shirt the rest of the way up, easing it over his head and then his arms, which Harry obligingly raises like Louis’ siblings used to when they were still young enough for their brother to help them with their bath. Harry’s a lot taller than Louis’ baby siblings, however, and ducks his head so Louis can grip the scarf with one hand while he tugs the shirt off with the other. 

He catches some of Harry’s hair with it. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” 

He’s so close he can see the droplets of Zambezi river water caught on Harry’s eyelashes. Behind them, his eyes are as green as the rainforest surrounding them, gazing down at Louis with patient amusement. 

“People are coming, H.” Liam certainly doesn’t sound patient. “I don’t want them in the video, so get on with it.”

The lashes on one of Harry’s eyes sweep down. 

It’s a wink. A slow-motion one, but it’s a wink all the same. Louis sticks out his tongue in return. “Go on, Haz.” 

Harry turns to survey the narrow bridge. Barely wide enough for one person, it crosses the gorge so close to the Falls that the spray shrouds the far end in mist. “So you want me to run there and back?”

Don’t look for Harry’s extra nipples, Louis instructs himself sternly, fixing his eyes instead on Harry’s wet face. “Better not run, really. You’re best walking across, yeah? Since I’m responsible for you and all.”

“Okay.” Harry gives them a cheerful salute and sets on his way, stepping gingerly at first through the heavy spray as it batters his naked chest and back. 

What was Louis thinking?

“While he’s busy with that,” Liam interrupts Louis’ concentration on Harry’s progress, “this is our tour guide, Louis.”

“Tour leader, Liam,” he corrects automatically. 

Liam has the camera focused on him. It swings back to Harry, who’s disappearing into the mist, then returns to Louis. “Louis here is guiding—sorry, leading us across Africa. He has already brought us safely through South Africa, Namibia and Botswana, and this morning he led us into Zambia, which is where we are now, standing so close to the mighty Victoria Falls that it’s literally falling all over us.”

Instinctively, Louis lifts his hands up to what’s basically like rain, except that it’s coming from the water cascading down in front of them. He shakes his hair like a wet dog. “Yup, we’re covered in the Zambezi River here,” he says to the camera, “reaching us via Victoria Falls, which is invisible on the other side of this white mist. You can hear it, though. That roar isn’t lions, it’s not a thunderstorm, it’s the largest waterfall in the world!”

Liam returns the camera to Knife Edge Bridge to track Harry, who’s reappeared through the dense mist. He has his arms raised as though he’s doing a victory lap, shaking his curls, having tied the scarf around his neck while he was out of sight, and laughing like crazy. 

He’s gorgeous, Louis thinks, uninhibited and free as he opens himself up to the wild chaos of the raw, untamed nature around him. He starts dancing as he approaches them, undulating his hips and—Jesus, the man cannot dance, but what he’s doing with those hips regardless is going straight to Louis’ head. Well, not his head, unfortunately, but further down. 

“Come on, Lou!” he yells when he’s close enough to be heard over the roar of the waterfall. He holds out his arms, long fingers enticing Louis towards him. “You have to do this too!”

Louis doesn’t think about it. With Harry’s laughter winding around him, he strips off his poncho and shirt with one move and dumps them on top of Harry’s in Niall’s arms. “I’m coming, Haz!”

He gives a cheeky double thumbs up to Liam’s camera and darts onto the wet stones of the bridge. Harry holds out both his hands for a high five as Louis reaches him and the smack of their palms reverberates through Louis. The spray feels icy on his chilled skin, but instead of resisting the cold, he lets it flood through him and turns directly into the water and screams. Beside him, Harry screams too, their voices disintegrating into the drifting mist. 

“Go again,” Louis yells, nudging Harry around to face the far end. 

This time, secure in the knowledge of Louis right behind him, Harry runs. His feet are sure and steady and Louis follows through the buffeting spray, shouting and whooping as he goes. The pounding water batters through his precarious emotions and he flings all the outrage and shame that’s been churning within him into the ferocity of the Falls. 

Harry keeps going when they reach the far end, climbing up the winding pathway with just a thin wooden barrier between them and the sheer drop opposite the Falls. The spray intensifies, all Louis can see is the golden gleam of Harry’s back in front of him, and he screams some more, just for the hell of it this time, screams until he’s laughing hysterically. 

At the highest point, Harry stops. Clinging to the barrier, he looks back at Louis, also laughing. “This is the best moment of my life,” he yells over the water. He lifts both his arms up, facing the deluge front on and roars.

Louis roars with him, and he doesn’t know if he’s laughing or crying, but it doesn’t matter. The blast of Victoria Falls washes it all away regardless. 

*

“I can’t believe Harry’s found someone just as mad as him.” 

Louis ignores Liam’s disbelief as he pulls his sodden shirt down over his slick body. He doesn’t bother with the poncho, he’s drenched already. “I can’t believe you filmed us behaving like idiots.”

“And I’m posting it too.” Smugness suits Liam. “You signed my release form.”

“Should’ve asked for final approval,” Louis mutters, but he’s grinning. 

Harry elbows his way between them. “Is my shirt straight, Lou?”

It’s rucked up beneath his armpit and Louis tugs it right, meticulous not to touch his skin. “There you go, love.” 

“Thanks.” 

The tiny effort was hardly worth Harry’s beaming smile, but Louis’ll take it. “You’re welcome.

“Where next, Tour Leader Louis?” Liam asks, camera rolling again. 

“Victoria Falls, Zambia side, offers several options.” Louis adopts his best teacher voice, but he’s distracted by Harry leaning over the cliff edge with his camera to capture the bridge amidst the spray. “Haz, be careful there.” When Harry ignores him, Louis grabs his belt and carries on talking to Liam’s camera. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by this health and safety disaster zone—” He feels Harry’s giggle vibrate against the back of his hand. “—several options. Knife Edge Bridge is the most exciting of them, as you’ve already seen. The most energetic, however, is the steep climb down to the Boiling Pot at the base of the Falls. Do not attempt this if you’re not feeling fit and filled with energy, because the climb back up the cliffs afterwards is a killer. Niall? How’re you feeling today, lad?”

“Fit and filled with energy, Tour Leader Louis.”

“Excellent, my boy, glad to hear it. So you feel able to attempt the journey to the bottom of the Falls?”

Niall claps Louis on the shoulder. “Lead on!”

Louis hauls Harry in and pushes him up the steps back to where the paths divided. Harry grins happily at him as they walk, snapping random pictures of the dripping trees and only tripping once. Figuring it’ll be safest if he walks beside Harry, Louis sends Liam and Niall on ahead down the stony stairway leading to the base of the cliffs. Harry goes next, Louis following, ready to grab him if he gets into any trouble. Descending doesn’t take long, just over ten minutes and they burst through the trees over piles of large rocks to emerge beside the wild water. 

“After the chasm of the Falls,” Louis explains to Liam’s camera, “the Zambezi zigzags through another five main gorges. This is the second gorge, the first after the Falls, which is just around that corner.” He points upstream where the water gushes around a bend in the cliff that towers above them, catches on the cliff opposite and surges back to the large pool at their feet where it churns violently around before being spat out to rush between the cliffs to the next gorge. Louis points at the pool and Liam follows his finger with the camera. “That’s the Boiling Pot we’ve come to see. Sorry, Niall, no swimming allowed or you’ll be carried off down the river, and I don’t think that’s how you’d like to see the gorges.”

“You said there was white water rafting,” Niall reminds him. “Is that through the gorges?”

“During low season rafting trips start from this spot. We’re right on the cusp, high season usually begins in January, but the rains started early this year and have been heavy, so definitely not at the moment, I’m afraid. If you pick that as an activity, you’ll have to start a lot further down the river for safety.”

Niall studies the swirling water. “We’ll have to come back. Liam? Put that on our goal list to come back during low season. Harry, you in?”

But Harry’s attention has been caught by the enormous steel bridge spanning the gorge above them that marks the link between Zambia and Zimbabwe. He’s watching, eyes wide, as a body hurls itself down between the cliffs. It jerks to a halt just above the water and bounces up, only to hurtle down again. 

“We’re definitely doing that,” Liam breathes. “Niall? You promised you would if we made a profit on your tour and we did.”

“Fuck me.” Niall doesn’t look nearly as excited. “Yeah, I did. It’s fucking high, though, Christ.”

Another body plummets from the bridge. Louis sat here once watching fifteen bungee drops in a row, trying to fantasise himself into their bodies to get an idea of what it might feel like. He aches to feel that rush of gravity, the release of leaping off the edge and plunging helplessly through the air above the rushing water. 

“You’re doing it too, H, right?” Liam checks.

“Yeah.” Harry sounds far away, lost in a reverie of his own. “Lou, come here. Want a picture of you with the bridge.”

“Me?” Louis should be accustomed to posing for Harry by now. It’s one thing, though, when they’re somewhere by themselves, but quite another when Niall, the intended subject of Harry’s lens, is right beside him. “What about the others?”

“Okay, all three of you,” Harry agrees, “but you first. I want you over here.”

Harry asks as though he expects Louis to comply, pointing at the spot where he wants Louis to stand. Carefully, Louis makes his way across the slippery rocks while Harry crouches, then lies flat.

“Angles from below are not exactly flattering, Curly,” Louis jokes, trying to cover his self-consciousness as he climbs up onto the jagged rock Harry pointed out. 

“I want you and the bridge.” Harry wriggles around to find the angle he wants. “Yeah, like that. Put your hands up.”

“Is this a hold-up? Can’t say you’ll find much value in my wallet, I’m afraid.”

He’s rewarded by a husky giggle. “Higher. Like you’re trying to reach the top.”

“Like this?” Louis stretches.

“Perfect. Now laugh.”

“Welcome to life in the focus of Harry’s lens,” Niall calls out. “He can be very demanding.”

That gives Louis something to laugh at, then his foot slips on the rock and he just manages to catch himself and he laughs harder. “C’mon, you lads,” he beckons to Niall and Liam, “come join me.”

Harry nods beneath him, permission granted. He even finds a rock to prop his camera on and sets a timer so he can join them. He wraps a damp arm around Louis’ shoulders and Louis locks a hand around his waist and rests his other hand on Niall’s back and they all shout as the camera clicks, recording the first picture of Louis as a part of Harry’s group.

*

To rest after the exhausting climb back up the cliff, Louis herds them upstream to where flat rocks sprawl in the sun at the river’s edge, just a few feet above the plunging waterfall. Harry spreads out, shirt off again, and once again Louis doesn’t allow his eyes the free rein of Harry’s chest that they keep wanting. Nobody really has four nipples, do they? It’s just a joke on Louis and he refuses to play along and conduct an investigation. 

“Sunblock, Haz?”

“Shit.” Harry jack-knifes up. “You said to bring as little as possible with us!”

Louis did. Liam and Niall both sport caps, but Louis left his in the cab and Harry opted for only his scarf. “If you’re going to lie down, at least use the scarf to cover your face.”

“I didn’t mean to leave it,” Harry says urgently. “Please don’t revoke my permission to take pictures of you. Please, Lou, I didn’t mean it. I was trying to be good, to do what you said.”

“It’s okay, love, don’t worry about it. I know you were.” Harry looks so woebegone that Louis shuffles closer to him to pat his arm soothingly. “Just use the scarf or your shirt to cover your face so it’s protected, yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can still take pictures of me. I haven’t revoked anything.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you.” Harry leans back on the rocks, drapes his shirt haphazardly over his chest and doubles up the scarf across his face. “Like this?” he asks, voice muffled.

“Perfect.” _Good boy_ , Louis wants to add, but then he realises Liam and Niall are avidly watching their exchange and while nothing they’ve said is inappropriate, it feels like it is. “I hope you two are remembering your sunblock too,” Louis says sternly as he scoots away from Harry. 

“We’re good boys,” Niall says seriously, but then he winks. 

*

From Victoria Falls it takes less than ten minutes to drive to their home for the next three nights. Since this is a major tourist hub, the campsite is lush and luxurious, providing upgrades to riverside chalets for those who choose to indulge, from which you can see the thundering smoke of the Falls rising a couple of miles downstream. 

Louis loves it here. He dispatches his passengers to their various lodgings and quickly erects his and Zayn’s tent under a shady tree on a thick patch of lawn. This will be an ideal place in which to enjoy the paperback and six pack he plans to buy later in town, cool and relaxing after his energetic morning with Harry and his friends. He needs to calm down and get his head together during this precious time off, sort out his internal chaos and deal with it so he can be professional and competent and do everything necessary to secure a decent reference and get the hell out of Africa.

His final duty until the cruise tomorrow night is to ensure everyone attends the activities-booking session. He’s obviously trained this group well, because they’re all there on time, even before he arrives, so when he walks into the meeting house chalet to find his passengers scattered across its tiered seats, he bursts in an enthusiastic cheer. To his delight, they cheer back at him.

Ebony, the woman who oversees tour bookings, joins in and rushes over to high-five him. “Welcome back, Louis!”

“Ebony! Come here!” 

She comes happily into his arms and squeezes him tight. “We’ve all been waiting for you, you rascal.”

“Always late, that’s me.” It certainly used to be. He glances up at his waiting charges. “Everyone excited about the opportunities on offer here?”

Because he’s already ramped them up, they cheer again. Harry leads the cheer, Louis notices, waving down happily when he sees Louis looking at him. Louis gives him a thumbs up in thanks. 

“Excellent, excellent. Now I’m going to turn you over into the wonderful care of Ebony here, and she’ll show you a video to remind you about all your options, then you can make your bookings with her.”

Ebony starts the video before ushering Louis over to a chair she’s placed especially for him at the side. “I’m not letting you escape without making at least one booking,” she murmurs beneath the excited commentary from the sales video. “You know that, right?”

“And I’ll make the same booking I make every trip.”

“Louis.” Her eyes fill with concerned reproach and he knows she knows.

“Don’t.”

“I can give you some good deals. Twenty percent off, maybe even thirty, depending.”

“I _know_ , okay?” He keeps his voice low, but makes it steely. Strong. Tough. “I know, and you can tell everyone else that I know in case the news hasn’t reached here yet.” 

“Louis.” Her voice is gentler this time and he scowls at her.

“I don’t want to discuss it, and I sure as hell don’t want any consolation discounts, yeah? You hear me?”

“I wanted to tell you in December.”

“You should have.”

“I know. I just—I hoped she would. When you got home.”

“Well, she didn’t, but I found out and now I know. It’s all over.”

Despite his best efforts at imperturbability, Ebony rests her hand on his back for the rest of the video. It’s a gesture that’s meant to be comforting and he gets it, he does, but the very fact she feels he needs comforting enrages Louis. This is exactly what he doesn’t want and why he intends to hide away in his corner beneath the trees for the rest of his time here. Ebony can spread the word and hopefully the other overland crews visiting will stay the hell away. 

When the video finishes playing, she squeezes his arm before hurrying to the front to start doing her job. Louis stays in his seat, attempting to rearrange his features so that he looks vaguely approachable, should his passengers want to seek his opinion on their choices. 

He should probably smile.

Fuck smiling, honestly.

From his animated discussion with his friends, Harry looks over. His face is troubled, the line deep between his brows. Louis sends a little reassuring smile his way and Harry tentatively smiles back. That’s better. Not the best, though. Not the way Harry was laughing with explosive happiness on Knife Edge Bridge back at the Falls. 

Harry should laugh like that every day.

How can Louis ensure that he does?

As the line starts forming to make bookings with Ebony, Harry wanders over in Louis’ direction.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against one of the poles holding up the thatched roof. 

“Hey,” Louis replies.

Harry shifts his weight from one foot to the other, sticks a hand in the pocket of his denim shorts, pulls it out again, and rifles it through his curls, which have dried riotously around his face. 

“You’re not booking anything?” Louis asks.

Harry turns to face him. “Want to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Could we maybe, um, go outside?”

“Sure.” 

He finds a low bench beneath a patch of shade provided by a large marula tree. Two little monkeys are tumbling around it, but they scamper off as he approaches.

“They’re cute,” Harry observes, sitting down when Louis gestures him to. “What kind are they?”

“Vervet monkeys.” Half the size of the aggressive baboons menacing the Falls area, vervets are lithe and long-limbed, their silver fur complimenting their wise-old-man faces. Louis loves them, enjoys their humour and agility and how quick they can be. “Don’t walk around with any food out,” he advises, “or keep any in your tent unless it’s in a metal container, because they’ll grab it in a second. But they won’t attack or hurt you.” 

“We upgraded.” Harry leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, still watching the monkeys as they join several others over by the walkway. “We’re in a chalet, you know, beside the river, so Liam can have internet and electricity. It’s nice. You should come by and say hi.”

“I will.” He probably won’t. “Can you see the mist of the Falls from there?”

“From the balcony. It was really cool this afternoon, Lou, at the Falls.”

“Victoria Falls is a special place.” Apparently Harry needs time to work around to his point, so Louis leans back and straightens his legs out in front of him. The warm breeze is soothing, and he can’t wait to fall asleep in it later. “The Zimbabwean side of the Falls is very different,” he continues, slipping into his tour leader guise. “You can’t fully experience the Falls without doing both.”

“What’s it like?”

“They have three-quarters of the Falls. You can walk all the way along the cliffs opposite the Falls, nearly a mile, to view the different sections. During the low water season it’s interesting to see the rock behind the Falls—basalt, I believe? This time of the year there’ll be sections you can’t see at all because there's too much spray, but that’s an adrenalin rush in itself, and you can get up close to Devil’s Cataract, the heaviest part of the Falls.”

“We’re staying at the Falls in Zimbabwe too, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, on Friday morning we’ll head over to a campsite there, which is where the second half of the tour officially begins on Saturday.”

Harry glances over, his solemn air disintegrating as his lips quirk up. “Will we have another group meeting to start it?”

“On Friday evening, yeah, followed by an optional group dinner to get to know the newcomers.”

“We can recreate our first meeting. I’ll hog the only table and you can give me another fright.”

“Ah,” Louis places his hand over his heart, “the good old days. We were so very young and innocent back then.”

Not even three weeks ago. Back when he still thought he was with Michelle and had a life in Africa. When he’d still convinced himself he was straight.

Harry seems to follow the direction of his thoughts. “I didn’t tell Liam and Niall,” he says, staring at his hands again. “About Michelle. I thought—you told me in confidence, and I didn’t know—I just said you’d had some bad news from home.” His eyes peek up through his curls. “Was that okay?” 

That would explain why both seemed so tolerant of him at the Falls. “That’s okay, Haz.”

The tips of Harry’s lips turn up again at the nickname. “Because of that, I have something to ask you. It wasn’t even my idea, honest. It was Liam’s. He and Niall discussed it before they asked my opinion.”

“Okay,” Louis says guardedly. “I’m here. Ask me.”

“With the first tour coming to an end, everyone was—people were talking about—you know, what kind of, um, tip to give you and Zayn.” He hurries through the words. “It’s right that that’s the normal thing to do?”

It’s where Louis makes his most money, the reason he can afford things like the booze cruise. “Yeah. But you don’t have to give me a tip. It’s not a requirement or anything.”

Harry sits up straight. “Of course we do,” he says indignantly. “That’s how it works. You gave us excellent service and we’re not going to ignore that, Louis, just because we’re also friends.”

Harry thinks they’re friends. Harry views him as a personal friend of his. Louis doesn’t know how to feel about that. “You don’t need to give me anything now, though,” he says uncomfortably. “I might be a horrible guide in the second half of the trip.”

“Leader,” Harry reminds him. “And you won’t be. But anyway, everyone was discussing it on the sunset cruise in Chobe yesterday and we all decided to give you tips now, even those of us who are continuing. So you can expect that, by the way. Then just now on the truck, Niall and Liam told me what they want to do.”

“Which is?” Louis prompts when Harry falls silent. 

“The amount’s going to be the same regardless. Whether you agree or not. You won’t save us anything if you don’t.”

“Agree to what, Harry?”

“We want to pay for you to do adventures with us,” Harry mumbles.

“You—” Louis stops, trying to process.

“Want to give you your tip as outdoor adventures.” It’s easier for Harry to say the second time and he swivels his body around on the bench, drawing one leg up beneath him as he prepares to make his case. “If you don’t want that, we’ll give you the cash equivalent, but, Lou, just hear me out, okay? Li thinks the four of us get on really well—you enjoyed this morning, didn’t you? You looked like you did. You weren’t, like, just pretending because we’re your passengers?”

“I wasn’t pretending.” Now he knows where this is going, Louis is stricken. “Haz, you really don’t need to do this. I’m fine. Going on adventures isn’t part of my job—”

“You’re off now, though,” Harry argues. “You and Zayn are officially off duty until Friday when we go to Zimbabwe, so you can do whatever you like. And we’d love to have you join us to do some of the activities. Zayn too, if he wants, but Liam said he didn’t think he would. He’ll ask him if you think he might, though. He’s getting the same amount, because he’s been an excellent driver and got us safely this far and we’re very appreciative of that.”

Louis has to take the money, if he has no choice about the amount being spent on him, given his current upheaval. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do adventure activities with you. You’re still my passengers, even if I’m off duty.”

“Okay, then you can do them by yourself, although I don’t think that would be so much fun. You don’t have to come with us. We want you to, we like hanging out with you, all of us, but—I don't know, maybe you’re sick of us.”

“I’m not sick of you, Harry, don’t be daft.” A horrible thought pierces through him. “You’re doing this because you think I’m sad,” he accuses. “You think I need cheering up because I’m sad and lonely and upset.”

“Your girlfriend just broke up with you in a horrible, cruel way—”

Louis surges up. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me!”

“I don’t! I’m not.” Leaping to his feet, Harry grabs Louis’ arm, his large fingers wrapping entirely around Louis’ forearm. “Please, Louis, this isn’t because we feel sorry for you. We like you. Something horrible happened to you and we want to distract you and—and give you a chance to laugh, maybe. If you don’t want that, if you’d rather sit around camp feeling sorry for yourself—”

“I don’t feel sorry for myself!” Jesus.

“Then join us. We haven’t picked our activities yet because we want to know what you want to do. Liam wants more of you on camera, if that helps. He loved what he got at the Falls, said you’re a natural. He said you’re far more entertaining than me and Niall are, you make the videos funny and more enjoyable. So you see, we want you for you, for who you are, because we value you and we—I—I want to experience this with you, Lou. Please. It won’t be the same without you.”

Louis wants to experience it with Harry, too. He’ll be here one more time after this and then that will be it. The end of Africa for him. Fuck knows he doesn’t deserve this, but he’s weak. He wants this. 

“Okay,” he whispers, turning his face into Harry’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Okay. I’ll join you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	20. Chapter 20

**Day 20 - Harry**

**Livingstone, Zambia**

Harry doesn’t sleep well. He’s in a bed at last, cool and soft and squeaky every time he moves. Which is often. He was so looking forward to three nights in a bed and now he’s wasting one of them, but the frustration of that isn’t the frustration that keeps him awake. 

It’s Louis.

Yesterday changed things between them. Maybe it started the day before, started shifting when Louis let down his fierce defences and confided the truth about Michelle and allowed Harry to comfort him. Harry took that as the sacred honour it was, held Louis while he cried and then, when the thunderstorm erupted around them, took Louis back to the bar where he bought him soft drinks and made him laugh with stupid jokes until the others returned from Kasane and it was time for the sunset animal cruise. 

But then yesterday dawned on the edge of the Zambezi and there’s something about this river, the river he can hear thundering over the basalt rocks even from his bed, that’s got to him. It’s alive, it’s gigantic, and like everything feels with him and Louis, it’s inexorable as it flows east across Africa towards the Indian Ocean. They’re travelling east towards the Indian Ocean too, and maybe this is Harry being fanciful and ridiculous, but yesterday felt like the beginning of something he’s powerless to stop. It’s inevitable. Whatever it is between him and Louis is happening now and he has no idea how they’re going to reach the ocean, unified in a mighty current together or shredded across a delta, separated even as they end up in the same place. 

It should terrify him.

It does, as he lies in his bed that’s tucked into a corner away from his sleeping friends. He’s out of line. Louis literally had his heart broken the day before yesterday. Harry has no business trying to seduce him. Louis needs support and understanding and, most of all, space to recover and rediscover who he is by himself. 

But the banana happened. Harry didn’t mean it, it wasn’t his fault he was holding it in his hand when Louis waltzed past him ordering, “Eat it _now_ ,” in a tone which pressed all of Harry’s buttons. And maybe if Louis hadn’t stood there fixated as Harry slid the banana down his throat, his body trembling as though Harry were sucking _him_ down, maybe then Harry could have stopped it. Prevented everything else. But Louis did, and not only that, he spent the rest of the morning giving Harry orders, stripping him, ensuring he was dressed again, taking care of him, and between that and the overwhelming exhilaration of the bridge and the spray and screaming themselves hoarse in an explosion of shared elation, how is Harry supposed to stop the current?

He’s lost to it now.

Louis is attracted to him.

Louis wants him.

And Louis wants to do to him all the things Harry longs for. Wants from him everything Harry yearns to give. 

It’s too soon.

He has no right.

But he’s also running out of time.

*

On the truck when Liam and Niall suggested offering adventures to Louis as his tip, they discussed which ones they’d like to do and Harry added the ones he suspected Louis wanted. He’d listened in to Louis’ discussion at the border with some of the others about activities and was pretty certain Louis was most attracted to white water rafting, bungee jumping and, to his surprise, the elephant ride. The first two were on Liam and Niall’s list already, and they happily added elephant riding when Harry brought it up. They also picked the booze cruise on the Zambezi, since everyone’s doing it as an unofficial goodbye party, and a helicopter ride over the Falls. Harry’s a little nervous about that one after his struggle on the plane over the Okavango, but it’s their last planned activity, so he’s not going to let fear spoil his enjoyment of the rest. 

First up is the rafting. Ebony told them they’d be picked up after breakfast, so they make their way to the resort’s open-air restaurant on the edge of the Zambezi. They were instructed to wear cool clothes they can swim in, so Harry puts on his yellow trunks because they’re his favourites (not because he likes the way Louis looks at him in them), pairing them with a blue t-shirt the colour of the sky. Of Louis’ eyes, too, okay, sue him. He likes blue. He’s never gone rafting before, but from what he saw in the promo video it’s likely to be violent so he doesn’t want to risk one of his new scarves. It looked like they’ll wear helmets while on the river, but he grabs Louis’ Table Mountain cap for the climb in and out of the gorge that Ebony warned them about and smothers himself in sunblock before sliding the bottle into his pocket. He doesn’t expect to get a second free ride from Louis, and nor would he want one. Louis laid down the law and it’s Harry’s job to obey it.

He’s going to see Louis.

After he persuaded Louis to come and book adventures with them yesterday, he didn’t see Louis for the rest of the day. Louis said he was going to sleep, and Niall and Liam wanted to head into town to buy snack food for their chalet, so Harry joined them on their taxi ride there and back to the grocery store to ensure something useful was bought. Leaving Liam and Niall to edit together videos of the morning and catch up on posting, Harry passed the afternoon and evening dawdling potential song lyrics in his elephant dung notebook, Harry the Second propped up beside him to keep him from dissolving into panic about Louis and what lies in wait.

Now it’s time. Louis will show up any second and Harry’s nervous. He fiddles with his mushroom omelette, drops a piece of toast onto the floor, then chokes on his coffee when Louis sidles around the corner between two tumbling vervet monkeys to approach their table with a shy little smile.

“Morning, lads.”

“You’re a hit,” Liam announces before Harry can greet him. “We’ve never had a video with such a great response and everyone’s asking for more of Tour Leader Louis.”

“Is that right?” Chewing on his lower lip, Louis darts a glance at Harry. “Hey, Haz. You look nice today.”

Harry tries not to preen. “Hi. So do you.” Louis’ wearing his Big Five t-shirt, the green one with ripped-out sleeves. Harry likes the way Louis adjusts his clothes so they’re the way he wants them. It never occurs to Harry to do that. The most he’ll do is roll up his sleeves, which he’s done with his shirt today. “I have my sunblock,” he adds, tugging the top of it out of his pocket for proof.

“Good boy,” Louis approves, and it’s just like where they left off at the Falls yesterday. The awkwardness of tips and adventures hasn’t ruined it. 

_For you_ , Harry wants to say, but it’s too soon and inappropriate, so he lets his eyes say it for him and Louis gazes down at him as if he couldn’t be happier with Harry. 

Yes. Keep this look on Louis’ face.

“You haven’t left much time to order breakfast,” Niall says through a mouthful of bacon. “We’re being collected in a few minutes. Or did you eat earlier?”

“I’m fine.” Louis pinches a mushroom from Harry’s omelette. “Nice.”

“Do you want the rest?” Harry pushes it towards him. “I already had toast and cornflakes.”

“I’m not stealing the food off your plate, Haz.”

“You just did.” All that matters is that Louis is grinning down at him. “I can’t finish this in time. Help me?”

“All right, shove over.” Louis elbows him out the way and Harry eagerly shuffles along the wooden bench to give him space. 

“I can go get you tea, Lou.”

“You know what I like?” Louis asks, as if Harry hasn’t made proper tea for him before.

“Yes.”

“You sure?” 

“You can test me. If I get it wrong—”

“If you’re right, you can have half of what’s left of your omelette.” Louis’ gaze doesn’t waver, but Harry senses the uncertainty in him. Is this okay with Harry, playing this way?

“Done!” 

He hops off the other side of the bench and hurries over to the counter where he’d already noticed they had Louis’ tea. It doesn’t take long to make it the way he knows Louis likes it, and he grabs two slices of toast and a handful of little tubs of butter and jam on his way past the buffet. 

“For you,” he says triumphantly, interrupting the conversation Louis and Liam are having about the YouTube response to the video with Louis from the Falls. He drops the toast onto the plate beside the remains of his omelette and deposits the tea carefully in front of Louis. “Try it.”

It’s sheer joy to watch the approval warm Louis’ eyes as he takes a sip. 

“Did he get it right?” Niall asks, sneaking a hand across to steal one of the pieces of toast.

Liam slaps him away. “I bet he did. Right, Louis?”

“He did. Well done, Haz.”

“Thank you.” Pleased, Harry slides back onto the bench beside him. “While you finish the omelette, I’ll make you a toast and jam sandwich to take with us.”

“While we finish it,” Louis corrects. Filling the fork with mushrooms and cheesy egg, he holds it out to Harry. “Your turn.”

Is Harry supposed to take it from him? 

Louis lifts the fork higher, tines facing Harry’s mouth. “Open up.”

Like a baby bird, Harry does. Louis feeds him the omelette carefully, making sure not to bump the fork against his teeth. Since Louis doesn’t act like there’s anything strange about feeding Harry, Harry doesn’t either. “Thank you,” he says after he swallows. 

Louis gives him a quick grin then continues discussing YouTube views with Liam. Harry concentrates on making the sandwich, opening his mouth obligingly whenever Louis turns the fork in his direction, and thinks he could very happily spend every meal like this.

*

A number of the others join them on the rafting trip. Harry counts ten besides his group as they collect outside to wait for the van. 

“Morning, Louis!” Hayley shouts from between Carlie and Yolanda. “You’re coming with us?”

Great, Harry thinks. So much for having Louis to himself today.

But Louis presses against Harry’s arm, keeping slightly behind him as he calls back, “I’m a tourist just like you today, Hays.”

“Welcome to the ranks,” Duncan grins, and beside him, Rachel and Nicole flutter their fingers in identical little waves. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Louis gives a little bow. “Good morning, everybody. And happy birthday, Duncan.”

“Thank you. Can’t think of a better place to celebrate my thirty-fifth.”

“Morning, Harry,” Nathan says, emerging from behind Annette and Rolf. “That shade of blue looks good on you.”

“Exactly what I said.” Louis slaps his hand against Harry’s chest, but instead of taking it away again he leaves it there, rubbing it around in tiny circles right over Harry’s heart. “See, Haz? Blue is definitely your colour.”

“That’s why I wear it,” Harry says solemnly, “to give everyone something nice to look at.”

“Very nice.” But Nathan’s voice is light instead of leering like at the start of the trip and Harry doesn’t feel the need to shrink away and hide behind Louis. “I like your cap, too.”

“It’s Louis’.”

To his surprise, Nathan winks. “I know.”

“Come on, everyone, the van is here.” Liam pushes forward, Duncan and Danny at his side. “Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m excited to get to the river.”

“To the river!” Niall yells, and everyone cheers as they follow Liam towards the van. 

Louis holds back, watching. “It’s nice not to be in charge for a change.”

“Yeah?” Harry pats Louis’ hand, which has gone still over his heart. “No Tour Leader Louis today?”

“Just Louis today.” Louis flips his hand around and winds their fingers together. “I’m not used to this, so I might not be very good at it.”

“I think you’re very good at being Louis.”

“You’ll have to keep an eye on me all day, make sure I’m doing it right.”

“I can do that.”

*

White water rafting is a riot. With Louis stepping down from leadership, Liam steps up, and Harry enjoys watching the way everyone accepts Louis’ decision and aims their questions and needs towards Liam when he automatically starts taking charge. He hangs behind to help Hayley climb down the cliffs to reach the river, he arbitrates over who goes in which raft, he sorts out a dispute with the rafting guides about missing out one of the more terrifying rapids for those who want to avoid it, and makes sure everyone has enough water and reapplies sunscreen and is generally all right. 

All of this means Louis is free to hang with Harry, and he does. He’s beside Harry all day, keeping up a hilarious running commentary on everything they do as though he’s a commentator for a Formula One race or a football match, and Harry spends the day in near hysterics. Between that and screaming his way through wild rapids, being flung from the raft and tossed through the wild waters at least three times, he’s breathless and exhausted and elated all at the same time when they finally pull the rafts out of the water.

“Now comes the biggest challenge of the day,” Louis continues, casually tossing him a water bottle before depositing their shoes and Harry’s sunblock cream on the rock between them. “After successfully navigating rapids like The Washing Machine, Judgment Day, and Oblivion, can Harry Styles manage to haul himself back out of the Batoka Gorge to safety on solid ground?” He extends his own water bottle like a pretend microphone. “What do you say, Styles? Are you feeling good?”

Harry steps towards him only for his knees to give way beneath him. “Oops!”

“Oh dear.” Louis crouches down beside him. “Those are some wobbly legs there, love.”

Harry’s whole body feels wobbly and weak from exertion, but he comes instantly alert when Louis rubs a hand from his calf up over his knee to rest high on his thigh. “What’s your prognosis, doc?”

“Feels good to me.” Louis’ voice has lost its commentator sheen and goes soft and husky. He squeezes, digging his fingers into Harry’s inner thigh. “How’s this feeling for you?”

Good. So, so good that Harry can scarcely breathe. “Not sure.” Turning, he angles his other leg towards Louis. “You might need to check them both.”

Louis takes him seriously. Setting down his water bottle, he places his free hand on Harry’s other thigh and carefully runs both hands down Harry’s legs and then up again, fingers palpating gently. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t feel any pain.”

“No?” Louis squeezes a bit harder, his hands now higher than Harry’s been touched by anyone who’s not a doctor or a lover. “How about here?”

The only reason he’s not hard is because he’s too exhausted. If Louis keeps going, though, he can’t guarantee anything. He wants Louis to keep going. It feels so good, little tingles of pleasure and excitement tremoring through him, and Louis’ eyes are hot on his, bright and intense, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Harry and he’s fine with it, he’s relishing Harry’s helpless reaction. 

“Please.” Harry cuts off the whimper. He can’t. Not here. Not in front of everyone. And not when he doesn’t know how Louis feels about what they’re doing. Not when he isn’t sure Louis is in a healthy place to be doing this. “I won’t make it up at all if you keep doing that.”

Louis doesn’t relent. He squeezes again. “This too much for you, Styles?”

Harry shakes his head even as he says, “Maybe I might make it _up_ after all.”

It takes Louis just a couple of seconds to click. His eyes drop to Harry’s groin then flash straight back up. “Best you save that energy, love. You’re gonna need a lot of _endurance_.”

Did Louis just—

He winks.

Harry’s desperately relieved when Louis stands up to put on his trainers. He crouches over to put on his own, breathing hard and trying to redirect the pulsing of his blood out to his legs, which have to carry him up a very steep path to the top of the gorge. Did Louis really respond like that? He didn’t roll his eyes, he didn’t scoff, he didn’t laugh. He _joined in_ _and took it further._

Harry works hard at his sense of humour. He knows most people don’t get it, people tend to take him seriously when he’s actually joking or look at him blankly when he thinks he’s been clever. Over the years he’s learned to rein it in, to keep his mouth shut when something he believes is hilarious wants to leap out of it. But he said exactly what he wanted to say and Louis not only got it, but continued it. 

“C’mon, Haz,” Louis calls. “You go in front of me. Can you manage everything?”

They have to climb out of the gorge with their helmets and oars. Harry wasn’t the most coordinated on the climb down, although he’d managed to keep Louis from relieving him of his oar. Quickly he does up his laces and covers his face in an extra layer of sun cream. “Have some,” he says, stepping aside for Annette and Rolf to pass them towards the start of the trail. 

“I’m fine.” Louis shakes his head, his wet hair flying wildly around his face. “I don’t burn.”

“Put it on,” Harry insists. “Just in case. Please.”

“Hey, Harry!” Nicole stops beside them, waving Rachel, Duncan and Danny on. “Can I use some? I didn’t bring any and I know the water’s washed all of mine off.”

“As soon as Louis’ had some, of course you can.”

She turns her expectation to Louis, who gives Harry a flat, knowing look as he takes the cream. “Thank you, Harriet.”

Harry grins, happy he won. “You’re welcome, Lulu.”

“You two are ridiculous.” But although Nicole’s shaking her head, she’s smiling. “I’ll miss this most of all.”

“Miss what?” Slathering his face in white cream, Louis hands her the bottle. “Me and Harry calling each other silly names?”

“You’re comfortable together.” She’s a tough woman, brought up on the rougher side of Newcastle, a lot sharper than her sweet friend Rachel, but her eyes are soft as she helps herself to cream. “It’s something for us all to aspire to.”

Harry knows she has a boyfriend who is eighteen years older than she is, with a daughter nearly Nicole’s age who’s trying her best to destroy the relationship. “Don’t forget to keep in touch,” he says when she returns the sun cream to him. “I’ll give you my email when we get back tonight. I want to know how things work out.”

“I don’t think they will.” But she doesn’t look sad as she places her helmet back on her head and picks up her oar. “If I had something like this, it would be worth fighting for, but—yeah. It’s not enough. So thanks.”

He’s not sure what he’s done. It sounds like she’s intimating that she believes he and Louis are a couple and that what they share would be worth the fight. But—surely she knows—everyone knows Louis has a girlfriend. He’s heard them talking about it. Some of the women fantasised about Louis at the start and wondered what his type was, what the mysterious Michelle had that snared her Louis. When Nicole starts walking across the rocks toward the trail where the remaining guides await them, he hurries after her. “Me and Louis,” he says, keeping his voice down in the hopes that Louis, behind them, won’t hear. “You know we’re not—you know. Together.”

“I know what I’ve seen over the past three weeks.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Harry, if I had a friend like that? I’d fight.”

He darts a look over his shoulder. Louis has struck up a conversation with Charlie, their tour leader on the river today, bringing up the rear of their strung-out caravan up the side of the gorge. “Even if it’s the wrong time?” he asks Nicole softly. 

“Now is the only time you have.”

*

They have an hour once they get back to their chalet before they have to leave for the booze cruise. Louis dances off, saying he’s desperate for a shower to get all the river water off him, and Harry finds himself in his own shower clinging to his determination not to imagine where Louis is right now. What he looks like, water gliding over his golden brown body, touching him in all the places Harry has no right to even think about. 

It feels wrong not to have Louis’ voice in his ear after a full day of it. He can still hear it, the low rasp right at the end there as he examined Harry’s legs—Louis was touching him! Their energetic day being tossed about by the white water has left Harry with several bruises scattered around his body, but when he looks down, two blue smudges high on his left thigh correspond exactly with Louis’ fingers. 

Louis left his mark on Harry.

Harry can no longer contain himself. Wrapping his hand around his highly interested dick, he presses down on the bruises and imagines it’s Louis. 

Afterwards, he feels sick. As soon as he’s dressed, he pulls out supplies to make some sandwiches so they don’t have to drink on empty stomachs, needing something else to think about that isn’t violating the trust Louis has placed in him as a friend. Liam takes the next shower, but Niall, who went first, perches himself on the little table in the kitchen area.

“Hey.”

“The first sandwich is almost done,” Harry tells him. 

“You want to talk about anything?”

“Do you want tomato on this?”

“Love some, thanks.”

Harry already has several washed and ready, and he hurries to slice one over the chicken slices and lettuce already on the sandwich. “How’d you enjoy the rafting today?”

“Not as much as you and Louis.”

Nope. Harry’s not going there. “I didn’t think we’d be thrown out of the boat so much.” Here’s a confession, if Niall’s looking for one. “To be honest, I was a bit scared of falling out, but then that turned out to be the best part.”

“Is that right?”

“I was scared it would hurt, you know, with all those rocks in the river, or that I’d feel like I was drowning if I was thrown in the water.” He closes the sandwich, plates it, and hands it across, careful not to meet Niall’s direct gaze. “I guess it was the adrenalin, maybe, but I loved it.”

“Thanks.” 

Niall takes a bite, and Harry gratefully reaches for two more slices of bread. Liam never showers for long, so hopefully he’ll emerge before Niall finishes the distraction of his sandwich.

But Niall sets it down after only two mouthfuls. “H—”

“Is it not good? I can make you another one.”

“The sandwich is fine.”

“You’re not hungry?” 

“I want to talk to you. Liam said to leave it, but I can’t.”

“Liam usually knows what he’s talking about, though.”

“Something was different with you and Louis today.”

Damn. He’s not getting out of this, is he? “Louis was just being himself.” Harry concentrates on slicing another tomato. “You know, not being Tour Leader Louis but being regular Louis. That’s all.”

“He’s a nice guy. I get that. He’s your type, too—”

“Niall—”

“He’s getting engaged!”

Harry whirls around, knife in hand. “How the hell do you know that?”

“ _You_ know?”

“Who told you?”

“Louis did. At Elephant Sands. We had a little chat and he let it slip.”

Oh fuck. That was right before Louis went to talk to Lauren and found out the truth. 

“I told him to tell you. Seems like he did.”

This isn’t Harry’s secret to share; it’s Louis’. He didn’t give Harry permission to tell Niall and Liam. Harry can’t say anything. “The situation isn’t what you think,” he says carefully. “I can’t tell you more. I can’t violate his privacy like that. But it isn’t—he isn’t—”

“He’s no longer getting engaged?” Niall’s voice rises. “Are you telling me he broke up with Michelle because of you?”

“No!” No, no, no. Where’s Liam when you need him? Harry casts his eyes towards the bathroom, but he can still hear the sound of the shower. What’s taking him so long? He turns back to his tomatoes, concentrates hard so he doesn’t cut himself. “That isn’t what happened. It had nothing to do with me.”

“But they did break up? Oh,” Niall says in a different voice. “That was the bad news you mentioned. Not his family.”

“I didn’t tell you anything,” Harry says desperately. “If you want to know something, go ask Louis yourself.” But, no, he swivels around again to glare at Niall. “Except, like, don’t. Don’t mention her to him, okay? Don’t mention anything. Not now. He needs time and—and a distraction, something else to think about.”

“Harry.” Niall’s voice is infinitely gentle, and Harry can’t bear it. 

“Don’t. Niall, please. Let me give him this, these few days of, like, carefree holiday. There’s a lot you don’t know about him, about his past, and he—nobody deserves a break more than Louis does. Trust me.”

“I know he’s a good guy.” Still that gentle, understanding tone. “And I know you’re a good guy, too. I’m not going to interfere, H, all right? Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to him. Just—you can’t tell me not to watch out for you, yeah? Because I can’t help it.”

“I’m fine,” Harry emphasises. 

“Good.” Niall’s smile isn’t his usual grin, but it’s close. “Now make me another sandwich before Liam comes and eats them all.”

*

Harry isn’t sure what to expect from a sunset booze cruise. On the way back to camp, Louis told him it’s on one of the party boats rather than a more stately affair, but he still wants to look nice for it. He upturns his bag to find his tight black jeans and wonders if it would be inappropriate to wear the only sheer button-up he brought. It has long sleeves and will protect him from mosquitoes—although he’d probably better spray his chest with repellent quite liberally since he’s not in the habit of buttoning this shirt very high. 

Such a delightful scent to reek of for his evening out. 

But then, Louis is no doubt extremely accustomed to the smell and will reek of it himself, as will everyone else. Such are the joys of nightlife in Africa.

Niall and Liam have dressed up too, for an African bush value of dressing up, and Harry’s relieved when they join the rest of the group to wait for the minivan to see that everyone else has pulled out their best as well. It’s a big occasion after all, saying goodbye to seven of their travel companions and celebrating Duncan’s birthday as well as the end of the first half of their trip for the rest. 

Niall whistles. “Check Zayn out.”

Zayn and Louis saunter out of the trees from the direction of the tents. Zayn’s all in black, jeans like Harry’s and a black vest that hugs his very impressive chest and clings so tightly that it shows off a distinct six pack as it follows his body down. His hair is slicked back, and he’s shaved off his usual scruff to highlight his astonishing cheekbones.

But Harry barely notices him. 

Not when Louis is beside him.

Not when Louis is there in skin-tight jeans following the elegant curves Harry tries not to think about from his slender ankles up to the flare of his hips. It’s easy to forget what Louis has underneath his favoured baggy shorts, he dresses to hide it, but tonight everything’s on display and Harry’s mouth literally waters at the sight. He swallows, hard, digging his teeth into his lower lip the way they long to dig into Louis’ flesh, and wrenches his eyes upwards. A soft grey jumper drapes delicately down to emphasise Louis’ narrow waist and if only Harry had the right to slide his hands around either side of that waist and pull Louis into his arms for the kiss that looking so delectable deserves. 

“Haz.”

That’s Louis’ voice and Harry forces himself to focus on his face. Louis looks as shell-shocked as Harry feels. “Lou.”

“You look....” Louis’ eyes do a quick once-over, catch on Harry’s bare chest. “You.... Zayn?”

“You clean up well,” Zayn says. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “All of you do. Who knew that dusty desert wasn’t our best look?”

“Look who’s talking!” Niall flings an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “You should shave more often, my man. Don’t you think, Li?”

“Um.” Liam glances at Harry and Louis. “You two coming?”

“It wouldn’t take much,” Harry says without thinking and Louis chokes.

Liam merely rolls his eyes and hurries after Niall and Zayn. 

Louis breaks the silence. “Such a dirty mind, Harriet.”

“Sorry.” Harry could kick himself for his inappropriateness. “I’m usually better at, um, repressing myself. I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey, please, never repress yourself for my sake.”

“Believe me, it’s better that way. 

“Really?” Louis’ bright smile helps ease Harry’s painful flush. “All the more reason you should share.” 

Harry definitely shouldn’t share the X-rated thoughts running through his mind right now, thoughts about picking Louis up, feeling those legs wound around him, their chests pressed together, clothes disappearing—no. Stop. “Grey doesn’t usually look great on people,” he says, setting off after the others, “but somehow it looks very pretty on you.”

Louis looks down at his jumper. “Yeah, this....” He runs a couple of fingers over his stomach and slows to a stop. “This was a—it was the last Christmas present my, um....”

Harry isn’t certain whether the next word is meant to be _girlfriend_ or _mother,_ but he stops too, wanting to give Louis the space he needs. 

“Before she died,” Louis says in a burst. He’s pulled the ends of the sleeves over his fingers, his hands forming into fists. “I wore it on Christmas Day, then forgot it at home and didn’t wear it at uni all year, but I came home for her funeral and I saw it in my closet. Don’t know why I brought it to Cape Town, it was mid-summer, far too hot. But I brought it and it’s always in my bag, but I never—” His mouth twists as he meets Harry’s eyes. “I’ve never worn it until tonight.”

This is important. Louis is healing, Harry thinks. Talking about his mother with Harry in Ghanzi must have helped him and Harry couldn’t be more proud. “It’s beautiful, Lou, and you’re beautiful in it. I wish she could see you now.”

Louis shrugs, vulnerable moment over. He resumes walking towards the little jetty where the boat awaits them. “She’d not be too impressed with where I’m headed. She never liked it when I drank.” 

“You don’t drink much, though,” Harry points out. He’s noticed that while some of his fellow passengers get drunk every night there’s a bar at their camp, Louis rarely drinks anything alcoholic. “Or is that just because you’re on duty usually?”

“On duty. Now that I’m not?” Louis’ bright grin flashes over his face. “It’s party time!”

And party Louis does. He heads right into the middle of the crowd already grouped around the open bar and gets stuck in. Harry lingers beside the rail, alternating between photographing the hippos and elephants that emerge from the bushes to put on a show on the banks of the river and trying to capture the perfect picture of Louis enjoying himself as the sun slowly sinks towards the orange horizon. He looks carefree tonight, younger than his age, barely more than a teenager, certainly not like a man in charge of the carousing people surrounding him. Because he’s not. He’s on holiday, just like they are, and it makes Harry happy to watch him laugh and dance with some of the girls. 

“I wanted to thank you,” a voice says from beside him, and Harry jolts.

“Oh—Zayn, hi.”

“Hi.” Zayn isn’t smiling, but his eyes seem warmer than usual as he glances in the same direction Harry was, at Louis, who’s now dancing with Yolanda. “I’ve known Louis for three years,” he says, “and I’ve never seen him look this happy.”

Harry can’t help it. “I guess Yolanda is a good influence on him then.”

Zayn gives him a sharp look, then relaxes when he realises Harry’s joking. “He needed this right now.” He returns his attention to Louis, who’s laughing so hard at a joke Yolanda’s telling him that he almost falls over. “Liam told me the deal you offered him, about the tip.”

“We offered it to you too,” Harry points out and Zayn shrugs.

“Point is, Louis’ never let himself do any activities along the trip, not once. And you got him to agree and you’re giving him a good time, getting him out of his head. I appreciate it.”

In that moment, Harry is fiercely glad that Louis ended up with Zayn as his driver. Zayn clearly loves him. “You know he told me about Michelle?” he asks quietly, mindful of being overheard. 

Zayn nods. “He trusts you, and Louis doesn’t trust easily.” 

They watch together as Louis moves on to dance with Hayley, who clings to him a little too hard, and his face gentles as he eases her into a more appropriate position. She hasn’t hidden her crush on him very well, and Harry can’t help feeling grateful that she’s leaving the tour after tonight. 

He has to remember that Louis doesn’t belong to him.

“Keep him safe,” Zayn says abruptly. “I’m trusting you with him.”

“You can,” Harry promises. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	21. Chapter 21

**Day 21 - Louis**

**Livingstone, Zambia**

Louis startles awake from deep within a dream. He was warm and suddenly he’s not, and when he moves pain shoots through his head and he drops back, groaning, onto the bed.

Bed?

He’s on an actual bed?

What the fuck?

“Sorry,” a soft voice says beside him. “I tried not to wake you.”

He has to blink several times before the world around him shimmers into focus. Green eyes gaze solemnly down from two feet away. “Haz?”

“How’re you feeling? I have pills for you, and a bottle of water. Sit up, they’ll help.”

Pulling himself up into a seated position, Louis tries to figure out where he is. Why he’s in a room with a bed and Harry Styles. 

Harry sits down next to him, holding out two white pills on his palm. “Here.”

Because his head hurts like fuck, Louis takes them and the bottle of water, and drinks deeply. The water seems to wash away his confusion as he swallows it down. They’re in Livingstone, beside the Falls. He got drunk on the goodbye cruise last night, then drank even more in a club in town. He’s in Harry’s bed because—

He has no idea.

“Did I sleep here?”

Harry looks away as he takes back the empty bottle. “I’m sorry if it wasn’t appropriate. But you fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“We’re in your chalet, yeah?”

“Yes.” Harry glances back at him. “You don’t remember coming here last night?”

Louis shakes his head, then regrets it. “After—we went to a club?”

“You remember the club?”

“Vaguely. Drinking. Dancing? Was I dancing?”

Harry nods. “We were all dancing.”

“And then?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, Harry.” Why is that stricken look on Harry’s face? “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking you.” Shit. Did Louis do something inappropriate? The dancing, was he dancing with Harry? Did he—fuck, what did he do? “Harry, mate, why am I in your bed?” He fights to keep his voice level. “Did something happen—did we—” He can’t even say it, but Harry’s curls bounce wildly around his head as he shakes it.

“No! No, Lou. No.”

Okay. Relief stabs through him, but now isn’t the time to analyse exactly why, exactly what he’s more relieved about: that he didn’t do anything inappropriate with a passenger or that he hasn’t forgotten his first time kissing—or doing more with—Harry. “So...?”

“We came back early,” Harry says, “you and me. Before the others. You couldn’t remember where your tent was and I wasn’t sure, so I brought you here. It was supposed to be until Zayn got back, but you fell asleep and then I did. I only woke up now.”

Okay, okay, that explanation makes sense. His heart can stop pounding any time now, thanks. But something glimmers in his memory and he strains to clarify it. “Are you sure we didn’t—um—anything?”

Harry’s mouth literally drops open in shock. “I would _never_. Lou, please, you can’t think that I would.”

“I don’t!” The thought shimmers through his mind of Harry’s hands on his skin, Louis too groggy to remember all the reasons he shouldn’t do this, ecstasy pulsating through his veins. Is this a memory or a fantasy. Quickly he checks beneath the covers. His jeans are off but his briefs are still on. As is the vest he wore beneath his sweater last night. 

“Yes, I took them off,” Harry says levelly. “But I didn’t touch you.”

“Was I....” How does he phrase this? “Awake? When you did?”

“No.” Harry says no more, but his eyes bulge with distress. He flips the water bottle round and round in his hand, then says in a rush, “We danced together. Last night. At the club. You and me. But it was just a dance and it didn’t mean anything and then you started crying and I brought you home.”

“Crying?” That’s probably not the most important part of that outburst, but it’s what Louis fixates on. “Why was I crying?”

“You wouldn’t say.”

But Harry’s stopped looking at him. “Haz.” Louis tries to make his voice gentle, non-accusatory. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I don’t, Louis.” Harry reaches out the hand not engaged with the bottle to pick up his phone. It’s on a rickety cabinet beside the bed, Harry the Second looming over it. He flicks it on to check the time. “We have to leave for elephant riding in less than an hour. You’re welcome to shower here and I can lend you some clothes for the day or to wear back to your tent to get something of your own.”

“So I don’t have to do a walk of shame?” Louis is teasing, but it only intensifies Harry’s distress. 

“We didn’t do anything!”

“I know, I know.” But why can he remember the fire of Harry’s hands on his skin? “I would love a shower, thank you, and some clothes.”

To his relief, there’s no sign of Niall or Liam when he emerges from the little alcove that houses Harry’s bed. Neither of their beds are made and an avalanche of clothes covers one of them, so it’s likely they were here.

“They’ve gone to breakfast,” Harry explains behind him. “I’ll have some tea ready for you when you’re finished in the shower.”

Why is it so awkward? If nothing happened, then why is Harry having trouble looking at him? Turning the shower on to let it warm up, Louis strips off his remaining clothes and examines his body. There’s no sign of anything. There wouldn’t be, it’s stupid to even look, but he can feel the trace of _something_. As he steps beneath the steaming water and lets it cascade over his pounding head, he searches through what he can recollect. Start at the beginning, he tells himself, to see how far he can get.

He dressed up for Harry, he remembers that much. And he wore his mother’s jumper that he’s barely been able to look at even while he’s kept it stuffed in a corner of his bag for years. 

Is that why he cried? 

But he didn’t feel upset when he put it on. Quite the contrary, it felt like home, like love and warmth and happiness. He went out determined to have a fun, joyful evening. And he did, from what he can remember. The cruise was a riot as always. He made certain to spend time with everyone and he danced with a lot of the girls. Harry was taking pictures, he recalls abruptly. Not dancing.

He can’t remember whose idea it was to go to the club afterwards. His memory kind of skips from the boat to the inside of a club he and Zayn frequently visit when in Livingstone. There was good music. Live music. No more free alcohol, but his passengers kept buying it for him and he kept drinking it because Harry looked too tempting to resist. Oh yeah, he remembers that vividly. He tried his best to avoid Harry last night, so how the hell did he end up in his bed?

They danced. 

Louis danced with lots of people yesterday but there’s only one pair of hands he can still feel on his skin.

Why won’t his memory clear? He just has snatches. The taste of cheap alcohol. His favourite song. A hard body against his. Pressed together. Grinding against each other.

Is that real? Is that a memory? Or just a fantasy. He can’t tell. He’s hard in the shower at the thought of it. Was he hard last night? Against Harry? Did Harry feel it? Does Harry know?

How did he end up crying?

What is Harry leaving out?

And why does he look so uncomfortable this morning?

It pisses him off that he can’t remember. Stupid, reckless behaviour on his part, getting that drunk, especially around his passengers. He may not have been on official duty, but what kind of professional image is that portraying? No kind, that’s what. None at all. He should be ashamed of himself—and he is. 

His anger deals with his arousal problem and he finishes washing himself roughly. It’s only when he steps out of the shower that he realises he has no towel—but apparently Harry dealt with that by slipping in and leaving him a towel, some drawstring shorts and a black t-shirt. There’s also underwear. They’re clean, been washed by the laundry service no doubt yesterday, but they’re still another man’s underwear. 

Even he and Zayn have never gone that far with their sharing.

He pulls them on. They’re soft against his skin, softer than his own, as is the t-shirt. It’s loose on him but not baggy. It must be tight on Harry. Harry does have a tight black shirt, now he thinks about it, and this must be it. The shorts are also black. Harry has very slim hips and slender legs, so they fit Louis a bit snugly in certain areas, but not so snugly he’ll rip them. There’s no mirror to check in since the tiny one above the basin doesn’t reflect more than his face, but the clothes feel okay. He won’t have to waste time returning to his tent to find something to wear because there’s nothing that identifies this outfit as being Harry’s. It’s anonymous and fits well enough for him to get by. 

When he steps back into the main room, Harry swings around, two mugs in his hands. His eyes flick over Louis and Louis tries not to fidget self-consciously. 

“They fit,” he says. “Thanks.”

“I thought they’d work.” With a pleased smile, Harry sets the two mugs down on the table between them, indicating the one closer to Louis. “Your tea. And I have bread here so I can make you a sandwich if your head doesn’t feel up to going to breakfast.”

Louis’ hangover isn’t as bad as he deserves, but he jumps at the chance to avoid being in public just yet. “A sandwich would be great. Thanks.” The chair scrapes against the stone floor when he pulls it out and he flinches. “Sorry.”

“I’m okay, I didn’t drink too much last night. Liam and Niall were a bit of a wreck, though, and I think most of the others will be as well.” Harry moves as he talks, setting out a loaf of bread and delving into a tiny bar fridge Louis hadn’t noticed to bring out a wedge of hard cheese, some tomatoes and a pack of chicken slices. “How does this look? Or I have peanut butter and raspberry jam, if you’d rather.”

“That looks great.” Uni Louis would have picked the PB&J, but he’s learned to appreciate fresh food on the road. The mug of tea is steaming when he picks it up, but he takes a sip and feels immediately better. Closing his eyes, he lets the effect soak in and doesn’t think about why Harry has his brand of tea in his temporary Livingstone chalet.

*

His bad mood lasts until he sees the elephants. Riding African elephants is different to what he’s heard about riding Asian elephants in Thailand. For starters, the elephants here are volunteers. They live freely in the forests and come by choice when the handlers call their names in the morning. Occasionally one of them disappears for a while, off to live their own life. One returned newly pregnant after an absence of several years, they’re informed during their safety briefing over orange juice and biscuits. She remained after giving birth, and her semi-grown baby is one of the elephants to be ridden today. 

They’re beautiful, is the thing. Enormous and sturdy and patient and gorgeous. Louis struggles not to bounce in the line as they wait to climb the wooden boarding platform. He’s about to make one of his dreams come true and how can he care about his drunken self’s troublesome behaviour when he’s within touching distance of elephants!

He and Harry are lucky enough to end up riding Mashumbi, the prodigal mother. They ride astride on a saddle, just as if they were riding a horse, and Louis helps Harry on, ensuring he’s steady before he clambers on behind. 

“You should be in front, Lou,” Harry protests. 

“You’re the one taking pictures.” There’s a little handle between their bodies for Louis to grasp, just like there is in front of Harry, but he ignores it. “I’ll hold onto you so you can have your hands free.”

Swivelling in the saddle, Harry gives him a happy little grin over his shoulder. “You don’t mind? I don’t want to distract you from the experience.”

“We’re on an elephant, Haz!” He leans down to pat the rough skin as Mashumbi ambles away from the platform, marvelling that he’s actually touching an elephant. “Nothing can distract me from this.”

Their handler, perched in front of Harry, laughs and introduces himself as Kamali, from Zimbabwe. He answers Harry’s eager questions as the elephants set off through the bush. Louis tunes out their voices, curling his hands on either side of Harry’s hips. Mashumbi walks in a slow sway, a gentle rocking rhythm that suits the pace of the African bush around them. This is how Africa is meant to be experienced, Louis thinks, not speeding along dusty roads in a roaring truck. 

The sun bakes down on the back of his neck, where he realises he forgot to put sunscreen. Harry, good boy that Louis’ training has turned him into, produced his bottle of it during the safety briefing and made sure everyone in their group was adequately protected, but Louis didn’t think about the back of his neck. The heat feels good, though, soothing away the remainder of his hangover. 

All too soon they reach the Zambezi, deep blue streaming past drowning green bushes and trees, since this area is in flood. As Mashumbi bends her head down to drink, Harry squirms around to survey the others behind them.

“Louis, look!”

A tiny baby elephant sidles up to join them, copying Mashumbi’s actions in drinking from the river. It’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, barely four feet high, looking up at them, delighted with itself as it trickles water over its back with its trunk. 

Harry leans back. “Thank you for this, Louis. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Harry’s the one paying for it, but Louis doesn’t point that out. Instead he wraps his arms securely around Harry’s stomach as they watch the baby elephant have its fun. 

It gets even better when they head into the trees and Liam spots a herd of giraffes lurking just a few metres away. They’re not afraid of the elephants, merely turning to watch as they continue to chomp away at the leaves.

“Fuck, they’re gorgeous,” Louis whispers. “Look at them. They don’t mind us being here at all.”

“Maybe they think we’re part of the elephants.”

He’s never seen giraffes so close. “Take a picture for me.”

Harry takes several, then, as they head away from the herd, lifts his hands above his head. “Smile, Louis!”

He has a selfie with the giraffes, taken on the back of an elephant. Happiness bursts through him and he pulls Harry towards him. “Both of us. I want one of us both with them.”

Afterwards they get to pet their elephants and feed them. Harry’s not so sure, but Louis eagerly steps up to let Mashumbi help herself to food from his hand. Her trunk is surprisingly muscular, and she patiently gazes down at him as he strokes her. 

“She likes you,” Kamali points out. He’s smiling with approval, and it looks like Mashumbi is too. 

“I like her,” Louis says honestly. Maybe he’ll splurge his money for one last ride on his way back south. He can’t bear to say goodbye. Hopefully he can ride Mashumbi again. 

*

They get a ride from the elephants straight to the border for their bungee jump. Everyone’s quiet on the drive, no longer hungover but lost in the dream world of the elephants. At least Louis is. It’s easier to imagine losing himself forever in the bush on the back of an elephant than to think about last night and dancing and crying. Harry seems content to follow his lead, casual and relaxed like they’ve always been in each other’s company. Good. Louis still can’t think about the fact that they spent another night together. 

His list of things not to think about is growing longer by the day. That’s fine. He’s on holiday. There’ll be plenty of time to mentally deal with everything when he’s back in the cab of Rafiki heading north. 

But here and now it’s bungee time. It’s just their group who booked jumps today—look at Louis considering himself part of Harry, Liam and Niall as though he’s one of them—and he’s relieved that he can guide them from the car park at the Falls where they’re dropped without feeling like he’s on duty. They pause at the immigration kiosk to show their bungee tickets to prove they’re not leaving the country but just visiting the mile of no-man’s-land in between border posts, then head down through the bush towards the bridge. 

Louis has wandered down here before to watch others jump, but never with passengers, so he doesn’t have a store of facts about it memorised. He knows the bridge is over a hundred years old and was constructed for the railway, but he revels in not feeling the need to impart this knowledge. Especially since Liam is a font of it, coming up with all kinds of related historical and scientific facts as they amble through the midday sunshine, avoiding the curio sellers trying to befriend them on either side. 

“Has he ever thought about a career in tour guiding?” Louis asks Harry when Niall interrupts Liam’s flow with a debate about whether a scenic steam train for tourists is worth the environmental damage it causes. “How does he remember all this shit?”

“He’s always had a good memory for facts.” Harry is happy to drop behind the other two and gives Louis the pleased little smile Louis’ coming to associate with a satisfied Harry. “Drove me crazy in school, he barely needed to study, but it’s very useful as a manager. He remembers statistics too. Don’t ever try to argue with him, because he’ll be right.”

Louis had to work horribly hard to memorise all his facts about Africa and it’s only been the last year or so that he hasn’t kept his books on hand to frantically recheck all his info about the next day’s destination each evening. That’ll make working on a new continent tough, having to relearn everything. If only he had Liam’s gift. 

“Have you bungee jumped before?” 

Harry already knows he hasn’t and Louis narrows his eyes at him only to realise he’s anxiously biting his lower lip. This isn’t about Louis. “No,” he says, keeping his voice calm and warm, “but my passengers do it every time we pass through and they love it.”

“But it’s dangerous.” Harry isn’t meeting his eyes, staring out instead at the green bushes at the side of the road. “Hurling yourself off something so high.”

“You’ll be safe. I promise.”

“You can’t, though. Promise.” Harry flicks him an uneasy glance. “It snapped once.”

Damn, Louis was hoping he hadn’t heard about that. “Fifty thousand people jump from here every year and the rope only broke for one person, once.” He wasn’t here at the time, but he heard about it in graphic detail, the Australian girl who plunged into the Zambezi and was bashed around on the rocks below for forty minutes before they were able to get her out. “And she was fine in the end.” Bar a few mild injuries. “It’s safe, Haz. I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t believe it was safe. I wouldn’t let any of you do it.” He wouldn’t let Harry anywhere near here if he thought for a moment something might go wrong. 

They’ve reached the bridge. It spans the gorge nearly five hundred feet above the water, according to Liam, cliffs falling straight down on either side. It’s the most picturesque place Louis can imagine jumping and he still can’t believe he’s finally getting the chance. 

Harry, however, is pale beneath his tan, his eyes turning glassy as he surveys their surroundings. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No?” Harry stops dead, frowning. “I thought you were just telling me it’s silly to be scared.”

“I was saying there’s no physical danger. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be scared.” Louis has never been so aware before of the restrictions of what’s permitted between men in this part of the world. He warns any gay passengers he has not to be demonstrative in public because it’s illegal in most of the countries they pass through, but now all he can think is that if Harry was his girlfriend he could pull him in close and kiss him gently to soothe that furrow from his brow and cuddle him until he feels better. But he can’t even hold Harry’s hand in his. Instead he rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder, which is trembling slightly. “We’re here for fun, and if it’s not fun for you then you don’t have to do it.”

Harry sways closer towards him. “But won’t you, like, think less of me?”

“Why would I think less of you?”

“For going back on my word to do this. For not facing my fears. For not standing up and being a man about it.”

What have people been saying to this boy? “It takes more courage to be honest,” he says, ignoring how heavy the words feel in his gut. “I’d think less of you if you went along and did this when you didn’t want to.”

Harry turns away, brow troubled, and Louis lets his hand fall. He doesn’t want to push it. It’s Harry’s life and Harry’s decision to make. 

“Louis, you ready to jump?” Niall yells as Louis reaches him and Liam. 

“Can’t wait, mate.” He grins into Liam’s camera and gives a double thumbs up. “Been dreaming about making this jump for years.”

“Niall’s not quite so excited,” Liam says from behind the camera. 

“But I’m doing it.” Niall watches one of the Italian girls in front of them leap out over the river and shudders. “I’m not going back on my word—but I’m shitting myself, Louis, not gonna lie.”

Louis remembers hearing something about an agreement Liam and Niall made. He tries not to watch Harry, who has his back turned as he follows the girl’s jump. He doesn’t even have his camera out and his spine is rigid. Louis inches around so he can surreptitiously lay a hand on the small of Harry’s back. Harry relaxes slightly under it and Louis beams brightly at Niall. “You’ll be fine,” he assures him. “Do you want to go first, get it over with?”

Niall looks like he’s fighting growing terror as the final Italian girl gets kitted up, meaning one of them will be next. “Li first.” He pokes Liam. “To prove it’s safe.”

“I need to video you,” Liam objects. “I was planning to go last.”

“I’ll video,” Harry says. He turns around to face them, dislodging Louis’ hand. His mouth is tight, but his eyes don’t waver. “I’m not jumping, so I can video all of you.”

“You can’t chicken out!” Niall objects, and Louis shoves him.

“Harry can do whatever he pleases,” he says before Niall’s insults can worsen. “And so can you, Niall, if you really don’t want to jump.”

Niall glares at Harry, before turning his ire towards the Italian girl who’s now balancing at the edge, about to jump. “I said I would.”

Behind his back, Louis meets Liam’s eyes. “Are you holding him to that, Liam?”

Liam’s eyes tell him he knows exactly what Louis is doing and that there’s no way he’d let Niall back out of this except that Louis won’t have anyone shamed for losing their courage. “’Course not,” he says, and it’s to his credit that he sounds like he means it. 

“It’s your choice, Niall,” Louis says evenly. 

“I said I would, but so did Harry, and—”

“I didn’t make a bet.” Harry sounds unperturbed as he interrupts before Louis can. “I just said I wanted to and now I’m here I don’t.” His eyes flick to Louis, falter uncertainly for a minute, then relax when Louis gives him an encouraging nod. “I didn’t want to jump out of a plane, so I didn't. And now I don’t want to jump off a bridge, so I’m not.”

Louis wants to applaud, but the Italian girl has leapt into space and the bungee workers are turning expectantly towards them because one of them has to get geared up right now. “Liam, are you happy to go first?”

Liam looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but he lowers the camera and holds it out to Harry. “Film all of us, yeah?”

“I will,” Harry says, taking it carefully. “Enjoy it.”

“Fuck yeah.” 

Unlike Niall and Harry, Liam glows with excitement as he bounds forward to place his life in the hands of the experienced workers. They make quick work of strapping him into the bungee rig, and then it’s time and he grins at all of them and leaps.

Niall shrieks in Louis’ ear and grabs him. “Shit, shit, shit, tell me he’s alive!”

“He’s fine.” Grinning now, secure in the knowledge he’s not leaving the bridge, Harry leans over to film Liam bouncing up again. “This is so cool. Niall, it’ll make a brilliant video for Instagram. I have the perfect angle here.”

“Fine.” Niall stomps towards the expectant workers. “Liam’ll never forgive me if I don’t. But if I die, it’s not my fault.”

“I promise we won’t blame you,” Louis says solemnly, and Harry giggles.

As soon as Niall heads for the edge of the platform, Louis steps up for his turn with the straps. He turns his head to watch Niall disappear, but he’s too excited to worry about what happens to him. This is it, this is _his_ turn, and he wants to savour every single second of it. 

“Are you scared?” Harry asks once his Niall filming duties are complete. 

Louis lets the full force of his grin say everything for him. “Thank you for this, Haz.”

Harry beams back. “I’ll be watching every second.”

It’s nice, knowing Harry’s watching. It feels a little like Harry’s experiencing it too, but in a safe way, a way that he can handle. Louis is so proud of him for sticking to his decision not to jump, despite the pressure from Niall. He takes his place at the edge, sticks out his tongue at Harry and then he’s soaring through the sky, green rainforest and granite cliffs swirling around him as he hurtles down towards the churning river and then, as he’d trusted, bounces up again, screaming his throat hoarse with freedom and joy and delight.

He doesn’t think anything could better that moment, but then he climbs back up the cliff to the bridge and Harry bounds into his arms, for a split second of a crushingly hard hug. “They said I could transfer my jump to you! Louis, you can take my ticket and jump again!”

This is it, Louis thinks, as he gazes into elated green eyes. This is the moment where he can’t fight it any longer. Something is going to happen between them before they reach Kenya. It’s inevitable now. 

It’s already happening.

With that knowledge, he hurls himself over the edge a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	22. Chapter 22

**Day 22 - Harry**

**Livingstone, Zambia to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe**

It’s his last night in a bed and Harry doesn’t sleep. It’s all wrong without Louis.

He’s shared his bed with Louis twice and now sleeping alone feels lonely and cold and not the way it’s supposed to be. 

So instead he lies where they both lay last night and drifts back to the club, with Louis warm and electric beneath his hands. How was he supposed to explain to Louis what happened? How close they came to kissing on the dance floor, lost in each other’s eyes, bodies pressed together, needy and desperate, hard, so hard, before Harry jerked away because it wasn’t fair to Louis when he was drunk and still reeling from the loss of his girlfriend. How badly Louis took the rejection. How he shrank into a tiny shadow of himself and wrapped his arms around his stomach as though Harry had punched him in it. How he ran from Harry. How Harry found him outside beside the river, racked with sobs like he was broken beyond repair. 

How Harry smuggled him away instead of doing the responsible thing and fetching Zayn to take Louis home. 

How he sniffled and shuddered in Harry’s arms in this very bed only twenty-four hours ago until he wore himself out and he drifted into sleep.

How Harry pretended he too was asleep when the others got back, because he was too selfish to let Zayn take Louis away.

Unforgivable behaviour on Harry’s part, especially when Louis spent the whole day today being warm and friendly and supportive of Harry.

Louis didn’t ask him again about last night. 

It was innocent, Harry tells his conscience fiercely. He _didn’t_ take advantage of Louis. He could have. He could have let Louis kiss him and kissed him back and rubbed against him, whipped them both up into a frenzy and their flight back to camp could have been for a very different purpose. Louis wanted it last night. Harry’s not in any doubt. Louis wanted him. 

No, Louis wanted sex.

Not necessarily Harry. Harry just happened to be the one there. 

Maybe Louis just wanted to forget, or he wanted revenge on Michelle, or he wanted to lose himself in pleasure. There could be any number of reasons why Louis almost kissed him. 

Not necessarily because he wanted _Harry_.

Harry wouldn’t mind being used, though, if that’s what Louis needed, but Louis was drunk. Not in any condition to consent, even though he was the initiator. 

It was better this way.

It is better.

It’s better, it’s better, it’s better. 

His pillow smells like Louis. 

How is he meant to sleep like this?

It’s a relief when morning comes, bringing with it packing and breakfast and loading the truck and driving across the bridge to be processed into Zimbabwe. Louis is sparkly and bright, like he was all afternoon yesterday after his two jumps and during the thrilling helicopter ride over the Falls, and he grins at Harry and Harry grins at him, but they don’t talk until they’ve set up camp on the southern bank of the Zambezi. Liam, Niall and Zayn head off with the others to see the Falls, Zimbabwe side, but Harry lurks around the camp while Louis sets up his kitchen. 

“You didn’t go with the others?” Louis says when he catches sight of him.

“I was waiting for you.” 

Maybe he’s being presumptive, but Louis’ smile warms. They talked in Zambia after the helicopter about visiting the Falls in Zimbabwe, it was supposed to be all five of them together, but Harry encouraged the others to go with the rest of the group and it looks like Louis doesn’t mind.

They skip down the path leading towards the Falls. There are no baboons this side, just the cute vervet monkeys and the usual curio sellers to trail them all the way to the entrance. It’s magical inside. Louis leads them straight to the edge of Devil’s Cataract, gazing over the woven thorn bushes at the cascade of torrential water. It’s overwhelming, but then as they wander along the edge of the canyon facing the rest of Victoria Falls, drenched by pounding spray, Harry stops trying to think and opens up his senses to the dramatic overload. 

Louis looks happy again today, there are no shadows in his laughing eyes. He touches Harry constantly, little brushes with the back of his fingers, a momentary arm thrown around his shoulders, a hand steadying his back. It takes everything Harry has not to lean into him, not to touch back. They can’t, here. Not in public. 

Has Louis remembered the club yet?

A tropical storm breaks when they’re on their way back from the far side of the Falls, nearly a mile from the entrance. They’re already soaked through, but Harry grabs the opportunity to pull Louis into a thick little grove of trees that shelters them from the worst of the bucketing rain. The summer temperature drops dramatically as the wind picks up, and Louis starts to shiver, giving Harry the excuse to pull him close. Louis burrows up against his chest and, secure in the knowledge that no one can see them now, Harry wraps his arms tightly around him.

Neither of them talk.

Neither of them move.

They just breathe and watch the rain.

It stops abruptly from one moment to the next, and the moment after, the sun comes out. Water glistens on every leaf and branch like diamonds and Louis draws a sharp breath. “It feels sacred,” he whispers.

It does.

*

When they get back to camp, the spell breaks. New passengers arrive in batches from the airport, continuing passengers want information about what lies ahead now that the second half of their trip is about to begin, leaving Harry to hang back and watch Louis turn back into Tour Leader Louis. 

It’s a turn-on in itself, watching his easy competence. There’s no trace of the vulnerability he’s let Harry see on and off during the past few days. His head is high, eyes bright, spine strong. No tremor in his voice. This isn’t a broken man. It’s a man who’s weathered the storm—literally, Harry smirks to himself—and has emerged stronger for it. 

Occasionally Louis flicks his eyes towards Harry as he goes about his afternoon, and each time Harry feels the impact in his gut. He keeps a polite, friendly expression on his face as he sits at a wooden table beneath the trees with his elephant dung notebook, pretending to write and chatting casually to various other passengers who pass him by. Jim and Marya left this morning for Bali, Nathan returned to South Africa last night, Rachel and Nicole flew back to Newcastle yesterday morning, and Hayley and Rose disappeared without Harry getting a chance to say goodbye. Everything’s in upheaval as random new people turn up looking lost and a bit scared or overwhelmed. There’s a group of four Koreans who don’t speak any English, but Louis manages to sort them out with tents and leaves them happily laughing as they erect them. 

It feels like months since Harry learned how to erect his tent. 

It’s only been three weeks. 

Late in the afternoon, barely an hour before the scheduled welcome meeting, a sudden hubbub descends upon Louis. He rushes off with Yolanda, Carlie and Vicky, and returns forty minutes later looking pale. 

“What’s up?” Harry calls from his shady table.

Unsteadily filling a cup with water, Louis drops onto Harry’s bench and swallows it down. “Michael,” he says distantly. “He broke his leg. Smashed it, really. It’s—” He grimaces. “Bad.”

“Oh no.” Michael wasn’t much fun on the tour to begin with, but he’s mellowed, and Harry’s even managed to have a couple of interesting conversations with the man. “So I guess that means he and Vicky are off the tour?”

“Yeah.” Louis drops his head into his hands, laughing hollowly. “Michelle and I had a bet about how long he’d make it on the tour. She said the Okavango. I said Vic Falls.” He laughs again, sounding sick. “I said Vic Falls.”

With a surreptitious glance around, Harry rests his hand on Louis’ back. “It’s not your fault, Lou. Just because you said that.”

“I know. I just—” Louis presses back into Harry’s hand. “I want to tell her. Is that stupid of me? I know she knows, or she’ll know soon, but I want to tell her. It feels wrong—like an unfinished conversation, you know? It’s the last thing we discussed before I left Cape Town.”

This is good, Louis talking about Michelle like this. It’s healthy and Harry is glad Louis feels comfortable enough to mention her. “It’s not stupid at all,” he says. He shouldn’t, but there’s no one in their immediate vicinity, so he lets his hand gently rub along Louis’ tense spine. “It’s normal to feel something like that.”

“I feel like—like I can’t miss her, like I shouldn’t.”

“You can, though. That’s normal too. You were with her for a long time, Lou, and you—you loved her.”

“What if I didn’t?”

Harry stops rubbing. “What?”

“What if I didn’t love her? I thought I did, but I don't know.” Turning his head sideways on his hands, Louis squints up at him. “Maybe I don’t know what love is. Or I don’t know how to love. Maybe I’m broken somehow.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

But Harry does. “You’re not broken, Louis. You’re so strong. When Shane cheated on me, I couldn’t get out of bed for three weeks. I couldn’t function at all and Niall had to basically keep me alive. You’re keeping a whole tour going as well as yourself. You’re amazing.”

“I’m crying in nightclubs,” Louis points out.

“Just once.” Does he remember why? What sparked it? 

If he does, Louis doesn’t acknowledge it. “But maybe me being mostly okay is what means I didn’t love her. Not really.”

“Did you think you loved her?”

“I thought—yeah, I thought I did.” Louis meets his eyes again. “I thought that was what love was, but maybe I was wrong. It wasn’t—I didn’t—she was fun and easy and we were comfortable together. I thought that meant it was love.”

“You don’t think so now?” Harry asks carefully.

“Hey, guys!” Niall’s voice interrupts as he appears around the edge of the tree. “We just bumped into Yolanda. What’s this about Michael and Vicky leaving the tour?”

Harry snatches back his hand. “He broke his leg,” he says, giving Louis a moment to switch gears. “So they can’t continue.”

“That’s shit. What happened?”

“They went white water rafting this afternoon,” Louis says, sitting up, voice no longer vulnerable, Tour Leader Louis mask firmly in place. “He fell while climbing out of the gorge afterwards. His leg’s broken in four places.”

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” Louis gets to his feet. “Where’s Liam?”

“He’s at the bar editing the bungee and helicopter footage and some stuff from today.” Niall slides into Louis’ place beside Harry. “But if you ask me, he’s spending more time talking to Zayn about drawing.”

“Zayn’s at the bar?”

“He has his painting set up there but he wasn’t getting much done either.” He turns to Harry. “That’s why I came to see what you were up to.”

“I was writing.” Harry gestures to his notebook. “Then Louis came to tell me about Michael. We need to start getting ready for the intro meeting, Louis, don’t we? Niall and I can sort out chairs for you.”

They don’t need words for Louis to remind Harry of their conversation about recreating their first meeting, just a glint in his eye and a quirk of his lips makes it clear, and Harry winks at him. Louis grins, a real grin, not a Tour Leader grin. “Thanks, lads.”

*

The meeting goes well, Harry thinks. It feels different watching Louis run through his tour intro information now that he knows him. He sees how skilfully Louis elicits interesting information from each person about how they ended up here, giving him a quick insight into who they are and what to expect from them on the tour. 

There’s another couple, Oliver and Elise, an accountant and nurse from New Zealand who are travelling to Nairobi as a tenth-anniversary present to each other. They still seem very much in love, which reminds Harry to give some thought to why Louis is suddenly doubting he ever loved Michelle. 

Nathan’s been replaced by another gay guy, Eric, from Geneva, who works in IT but spends most of his time mountain climbing. He looks nice, a lot less intense than Nathan. He’s already agreed to share a tent with Renato, a sweet, shy boy from Brazil who works for the national telephone company and admits to employing extreme saving methods to fund his passion to visit every country in the world. Zimbabwe is his forty-seventh country, and Louis promises him a special celebration on arrival in Tanzania to mark his fiftieth. 

Then there’s a bunch of new women, none of whom were travelling together but who already seem fast friends and have assimilated Carlie and Yolanda into their group. Harry tries to memorise their names as they introduce themselves—Veronique, very pretty, very French, only 19; Alicia, a sophisticated advertising executive from New York on her first ever trip out of the US and first time camping; Nora, a sparkly aspiring actress from Denmark, and Katrina, an Australian who’s just graduated from law school and is passionate about the environment. 

“You need to have a chat with Harry,” Louis advises, “a fellow lawyer-to-be.”

Katrina tosses her chestnut hair back over her tanned shoulder as she sizes Harry up, then licks her lips. Oh dear. She thinks he’s straight. 

Louis’ eyes narrow. 

Harry has no idea what to say.

“Anyway,” Louis says loudly, “plenty of time for that. In the meantime, our final four are from Korea. They don’t speak English, but they’re very excited to be here and I know you’ll all make them feel welcome.”

They seem to be two pairs of girlfriend and boyfriend, and when they realise Louis is talking about them they smile and wave and Harry resolves to go out of his way to include them and make them feel a part of the group. Maybe he can learn some Korean, that would be cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters again today, since one's really short :)

**Day 23 - Louis**

**Victoria Falls to Hwange National Park, Zimbabwe**

It’s a comfort to swing himself up into Zayn’s cab and head out on the road again. It was a chaotic morning, having to acquaint all their newcomers with the packing/tent down/breakfast routine that's now so familiar for the Cape Town passengers, assigning new duty groups, and keeping himself away from Harry, Niall and Liam’s little huddle in the misty rain. He’s had several mornings in a row of Harry making his morning tea for him and, while he’s perfectly capable of making his own, thank you, he misses that feeling of someone looking out for him. He doesn’t let himself make Harry coffee either. 

Whatever happens between them can’t be that public. He needs to be careful. 

“Harry’s good for you,” Zayn proclaims halfway to the Painted Dog Sanctuary near Hwange National Park. It’s easy driving on a good road, and Louis has sensed he’s been building up to some kind of intervention for a while. He just expected it to be about Michelle.

“That’s not what you said before,” he points out.

Keeping an eye on the sprinkling of green trees on either side of them in case of unexpected animals emerging, Zayn shrugs a single shoulder. “That was then.”

Louis is not sure where to go with that, so he flips the tables on Zayn. “Liam’s good for you.”

The truck literally jolts. 

“What? Was I not supposed to notice?”

Zayn glares at him.

“It’s fine to talk about my love life but not about yours?”

Zayn drives for almost two minutes before he mutters, “It’s not love.”

There’s something there, though. “But…?” Louis says invitingly.

“We slept together.”

Whoa. Louis did not see that coming. “When?”

“After the booze cruise. The club. When you went home with Harry.” 

“You took him back to our tent?”

“It was free,” Zayn says defensively. “We were careful with your stuff.”

Louis doesn’t give a shit about his stuff. Zayn’s never even acknowledged being gay before, so this is massive. “And? How was it?”

“I don’t ask you what Harry’s like in bed.”

“I wouldn’t know, so I couldn’t answer if you did.”

“Right.” Zayn gives him a sceptical glance.

“It’s true. We haven’t even kissed.”

“That’s not what it looked like at the club.”

It hadn’t occurred to Louis to ask Zayn about his missing memories. “Wait, you saw me and Harry kissing?”

“I saw you move in to kiss him.”

“I—what?” 

“People got in between us, but then I saw the two of you heading outside, so I figured—” Zayn breaks off in confusion. “Why are you acting so shocked?”

 _How_ can he not remember kissing Harry? “I kissed him?” 

“I thought you did. How can you not know?”

He felt too embarrassed about Harry’s report of Louis crying to confess his memory loss to Zayn earlier. “I don’t remember,” he admits. “I was too drunk. I woke up without any clear memory of the club.” He kissed Harry? Surely he should feel it somehow. His lips should remember it. How can he remember Harry’s skin beneath his hands but not his mouth against his? 

“Does Harry know you can’t remember?”

“I asked him what happened.”

“And he didn’t tell you—” Zayn frowns. “Hang on, you guys didn’t fuck when you went back to the chalet?”

“He said we didn’t.” Louis’ trying desperately to remember the words Harry used, what he looked like as he said them. “He was hiding something from me, though. I just don’t know what. But I had clothes on when I woke up and I didn’t feel—there was no sign—I’m sure we didn’t—I’d remember. Wouldn’t I? If I fucked Harry?”

“So why did you leave the club then?”

It hurts to remember Harry’s flat voice saying, _“Then you started crying and I brought you home.”_ Louis scrunches his arms up around his chest and drops his face into them. “I cried.”

“You—what?”

“Cried.” Saying it a second time is even worse. “Harry said I cried. He didn’t know why. Said I wouldn’t say. So maybe I kissed him and then I cried.”

“And he took you home…to bed?”

“He said I was too drunk to remember where our tent was and he didn’t know, so he took me to the chalet, only we both fell asleep before you guys came back. Speaking of.” He straightens up again as he realises what Zayn has done. “Nifty change of subject, that, Zayn, but we were talking about you and Liam. You came back, saw me and Harry in bed together, so swept him away to our tent?”

“Why do you think you cried?”

“Was it good, with Liam?”

“Did you cry more back at the chalet?”

“Do you think you’ll do it with him again?”

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, Louis.”

“Me too.” Louis sticks out his tongue because it never fails to make Zayn laugh. Sure enough, his cool glare lightens to a shadow of a grin. They both watch several miles of trees glide by before Louis says softly, “D’you think it’s possible to fall in love without realising it?”

Another mile passes before Zayn replies, just as quietly, “I’ve never been in love. I wouldn’t know.” Another couple of miles later, “Maybe.”

*

Harry keeps his distance at the Painted Dog Sanctuary, sticking with Niall and Liam as they exclaim over the beauty of the wild dogs currently being rehabilitated. It’s wise, Louis thinks, especially with the new batch of passengers who aren’t accustomed to his and Harry’s ways. 

By the time they reach their campsite at the national park of Hwange, he’s feeling Harry withdrawal symptoms. This isn’t fun. It feels wrong. 

But he waves his passengers off on an afternoon game drive with their local host, Jordan, instead of going with them. Harry catches his eye, his forehead wrinkling, and Louis’ pretty sure he’d cave if Harry pushed, but he doesn’t. Instead he gives a little nod and what Louis imagines is supposed to be a smile of some sort, and turns away with Liam and Niall to swing himself up onto the safari vehicle.

Louis doesn’t know what’s holding him back. Now that he’s back at work and the tour has resumed, he’s second-guessing himself. What felt so natural and inevitable at the Falls is fraught with risk. He could lose his job if anyone found out. He’s barely out of a very long-term relationship. Harry might worry that he’s only a rebound for Louis—and maybe he is. Maybe that’s all that Louis feels. Either way, they only have three weeks left together before living the rest of their lives on different continents. It’s stupid to start something if it’s anything more than a casual fling. 

Louis doesn’t feel very casual.

He might end up legitimately heartbroken by the end of this.

He’s not what Harry wants, anyway. Maybe if he just keeps that in mind, he can have this.

Have Harry.

If Harry still wants him after all that ridiculous crying and feeling sorry for himself at the Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters again today, since one's really short :)

**Day 24 - Harry**

**Hwange National Park to Bulawayo, Zimbabwe**

Harry gets it, he does. 

At Victoria Falls, he and Louis blurred the lines of Louis’ professionalism and this is Louis trying to get it back. Harry needs to respect that, to respect Louis. So on Sunday morning he goes on yet another game drive without Louis and concentrates on taking pictures and marvelling over animals, and doesn’t attempt to help out with the elaborate brunch Louis is preparing when they arrive back at camp, since it’s his day off duties. 

It would help if Alicia would stop flirting with Louis, though. She’s four years older than him, so it’s entirely inappropriate, and why would an advertising executive from New York be interested in an African tour leader? Because she wants to sleep with him, that’s why. She wants a fling and instead of choosing one of the single guys on the tour she’s set her sights on Louis. 

He knows he’s scowling as he watches her perch herself up on one of Louis’ steel tables while he grates some cheese. She shouldn’t sit there. It’s unhygienic.

“What’s unhygienic, mate?” Niall asks.

“Nothing.” Harry tears his eyes away from the way she’s twirling her long blonde hair around her elegant fingers. “Let’s try that bridge again.”

“She’s pretty,” Niall comments, watching Alicia. “I helped her and Nora take their tent down this morning. They were having trouble rolling it up.”

“I’m not surprised, she’s too skinny to have any muscles.” Harry knows he’s being snarky, but he can’t help it. Louis is bisexual and Harry’s never seen a picture of Michelle to know what he goes for in a girl. Maybe it’s skinny, sophisticated blondes with an air of bossiness and supreme self-confidence. Everything Harry is not. 

“She was telling me about a concert she went to at Radio City Music Hall and how she knows someone who works there. She said she could get me an intro to maybe play there.”

She did, did she? Of course she did. She could probably single-handedly get Louis a new job showing tourists around New York—or, since that probably wouldn’t be impressive enough for her, managing a fancy hotel there or something. 

“She said she’d give me his contact details,” Niall continues. “I’m gonna go over and ask her for them now so I don’t forget.”

Abandoning his guitar beside Harry, he hurries over to where Alicia’s now gently swinging her legs so her ankle brushes Louis’ thigh with each swing. Louis isn’t for casual touching like that. She has no right to him. The only passenger that has any right to touch Louis on this trip is Harry, damn it. She’s been here for five minutes. 

Oh. She’s sparkling up at Niall, doesn’t seem at all disappointed to be interrupted. As he hurries off after her to the truck, where presumably her phone with its lofty contacts is, Niall winks at Harry.

Oh, he thinks again. Niall did that deliberately. For Harry.

He picks the guitar up and starts playing the desert song in its latest incarnation, singing loudly enough for Louis to hear. Louis glances over his shoulder and grins, and Harry feels immediately better. 

*

The five-hour drive to Bulawayo is long, winding through more emerald hills that Harry thinks put England’s famed green to shame. Drifting clouds full of misty rain keep the temperatures bearable as they climb up to the high central plateau of Zimbabwe. Bulawayo is four and a half thousand feet above sea level, Liam informs Harry and Niall with some excitement. Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, which they’re headed to in a couple of days, is at almost five thousand feet. 

Liam also reads to them out of his guidebook about the civil war that was fought here in the bush for fifteen years, culminating in African independence in 1980. This includes the somewhat alarming fact that the first president of the newly independent country was later arrested for and convicted of sodomy and jailed for it. 

“Best be careful,” Niall says. 

He’s trying to joke about it, but Harry feels sick at the thought. It is literally a crime here if he has sex with Louis. 

“It’s like stepping into history,” Liam says. He’s pale beneath his suntan, looking as unsteady as Harry feels. “It’s the same in Zambia, and I knew that, but—I’ve never knowingly broken any law before.”

It takes Harry a couple of moments to follow the implication of that sentence through. “You—what, in Zambia? With—Zayn?”

Liam nods, flushing now, but he meets Harry’s eyes. “The night Louis was with you.”

“Wow.” Harry has no idea what to say. 

“It’s not serious,” Liam says, closing the guidebook and sliding it back into his bag. “It was just—a thing. Probably won’t happen again. We were drunk and it—and we literally broke the law.”

For someone like Liam, who takes rules extremely seriously, Harry can understand that that’s nearly as impactful as the fact he had sex with their driver. 

Surely Zayn’s not allowed to sleep with passengers either, if Louis can’t? 

“I didn’t even think of that,” he admits, the oppressive laws of nations having been nowhere near his consciousness when he had Louis grinding up against him and moving in to kiss him. 

“So you did do it with Louis then?” Niall asks. “We weren’t certain.”

Harry’s not sure how he feels about them discussing him and Louis behind his back. “No,” he says sharply. “It wasn’t like that. He was drunk and upset. He’s just broken up—” Shit, he can’t say that, he’s still not allowed to tell them. “No,” he repeats. 

Liam doesn’t press him. “It’s illegal in all the countries we’ll be in for the rest of the trip. It’s probably important to remember that.”

It wasn’t supposed to matter. Harry knew that after they first booked this trip, he’d checked, but he’d never expected it to have a practical application to his life. It was just something he routinely investigated before going to any new country. So, not only can Louis get fired if they’re found out, but they can theoretically be arrested and imprisoned. 

It’s a very scary thought. 

They’re tourists, they’re rarely around locals since they mostly stay in remote campgrounds, but even so. They were in public in that club in Livingstone and Louis almost kissed him right in front of everyone. 

They both have to remember they can’t. They’re not in England. Harry’s always been aware that as a gay man he doesn’t have the same freedom for PDA, not because it’s illegal but because there’s the possibility of people who’ll attack him for it, but it’s different to feel like the law of the country is against you. He’s fiercely glad Louis’ been protected by having a girlfriend all these years he’s been travelling through these countries so he’s never put himself at risk before. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t as aware as he should’ve been in Zambia, because he’s not accustomed to ever having to think about it. Both in Manchester and in Cape Town he could kiss Michelle in public, cuddle with her, and openly talk about leaving to have sex together. He’s never had to be on guard. 

Harry will be, though. For both of them. If it comes to it. 

The way it appears Liam will be with Zayn after Livingstone. It makes Harry wonder. If Zayn’s gay, maybe he hooks up all the time along the way. Maybe he was fully aware when he took Liam back to his tent. Harry didn’t notice them even dancing together at the club, so they were being safe. 

Physically safe. What about emotionally, though? He studies Liam as a wild rain squall whites out the windows, blocking the view. Liam’s bisexual, but he hasn’t done much with men, as far as Harry knows. They had a few conversations about it in university, Liam asking Harry about various logistics and what it’s like, being with a man. For him to go as far with Zayn as actually having sex, that’s huge. 

Liam notices his scrutiny. “I’m fine,” he says softly, reaching out his hand to pat Harry’s where he’s clutching his elephant dung notebook. “It’s all good.”

“If you want to talk,” Harry begins, and Liam nods.

“I will. I’ll come to you. I just—not right now.”

Liam’s never been as comfortable discussing relationships as Harry and Niall are, and Harry can respect that. “Any time,” he emphasises. “Anything you need.”

Liam gives his wrist a squeeze. “Thanks, H. And same for you, yeah?”

Harry nods. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about Louis, doesn’t want to lay it all out for his friends, his confusion about how badly he wants Louis and how Louis seems to want him back but isn’t in the right place for it right now, although they’re running out of time if they do want to do anything together, but there’d be too much violation of Louis’ privacy for him to be completely honest. It’s better to just say nothing. 

*

They arrive in Bulawayo in a heavy downpour, so Harry doesn’t get to see much of the city. Zayn pulls Rafiki into their campsite in the gardens of an extravagant mansion in the posh part of town. It includes several tiny rooms with bunkbeds, so Harry agrees when Liam wants to pay the small amount of US dollars required to upgrade so they can make use of electricity to work on video editing while the rain continues to bombard them. Harry takes the opportunity to learn some effective editing techniques from Liam, practising on footage they both took in Livingstone. 

There’s a lot more of him and Louis than there should be on video that’s intended for Niall promo. No one would imagine Louis was suffering through heartbreak, he muses, flipping through it. He looks bright and cheerful, the happiest of all four of them as they ride elephants, jump off bridges and enjoy the Zambezi River to the full. Hopefully that means the experience was good for him, worthwhile. 

Ultimately, if that’s all Harry can give him, some happiness in the midst of all the trauma he has going on, Harry will be satisfied. 

When Louis calls them for dinner, their guide for tomorrow’s rhino-tracking expedition in the nearby Matobo Hills has arrived to give them an overview of what to expect and how to prepare. Louis busies himself in the background and doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes once during the briefing. That means he’s not planning to join them.

He tells himself all the way through dinner to respect Louis’ choice. He’s not going to put added pressure on Louis. Louis is allowed to choose not to join him—them—on the outing. Maybe it’s another one where he’s not officially included, and it’ll only make things worse for him if Harry pushes. 

But when Harry’s coming back from his shower just before bed, he spots Louis in the corner of the garden looking up at the stars. Unable to resist, he hurries over there, disregarding the fact he’s only dressed in a pair of boxers while his wet hair drips all over his shoulders. 

“Hey, Lou.”

“Hey.” The brightness on Louis’ face surely means that Louis doesn’t mind being interrupted. “Orion is really bright tonight. Did you see?”

It’s easy to slot in beside Louis and lean against the wire fence to look up. “Hard to believe we didn’t see the sky all day,” he comments, realising that there’s now not a cloud in sight. “I’m glad it’s cleared for our expedition tomorrow.”

“It wouldn’t be much fun in the rain,” Louis agrees. “The forecast is clear and warm, so you’re in luck.”

 _You’re_. Not _we’re_. Harry’d already guessed, but he still feels a little sinking sensation in his chest. “Yeah.” He tries not to sound disappointed. “Liam was educating us about rhinos and the problems of poaching. Did you know there are people who believe that a powdered form of their horns is an aphrodisiac?”

“Can’t say that sounds very enticing.” Louis pulls a face. “Their horns are made out of the same thing as our fingernails.” 

Harry laughs. “I used to bite my nails. It’d be funny if I was turning myself on the whole time and didn’t even know it.”

“I still bite mine sometimes.” Louis spreads his hands and looks down at what Harry had noticed were very short nails. “Don’t think it ever does anything for me.”

He has such beautiful, delicate hands. Harry feels like his are huge and hulking as he cradles Louis’ hands from beneath, Harry’s shower-damp palms rubbing gently against Louis’, which are dry and slightly calloused from hauling all his kitchen equipment around.

“I see you upgraded,” Louis says after several minutes of silent contact. “One night back in a tent and you’ve had enough already?”

“It’s the electricity. Liam got addicted to a permanent supply in Livingstone. We’ve been editing videos all evening.”

“They’re fun to make.” Louis’ fingers curl around Harry’s, tightening. “If he still wants me, tell Liam I’m happy to do more with him. I enjoyed it at the Falls.”

“He definitely wants you. He was saying earlier that you should have your own YouTube channel. People would love you.” 

_Like I love you_ , he thinks, and then freezes. He can’t possibly love Louis. He barely knows him. They have only three weeks left together. He can’t be _in love_. 

“....don’t think I could do that,” Louis is saying when Harry’s hearing tunes back into the world around him. “I don’t know the first thing about making videos or editing them or YouTube. I don’t even have a camera.”

They could maybe get him one as a thank you gift in Nairobi. Not a fancy one, but something good enough to get started with. “Li could teach you,” Harry says, marvelling that his voice comes out sounding normal. “He loves teaching people things nearly as much as he loves learning them. He knows a lot about that world, if you’re interested.”

“Maybe.” Louis honestly sounds like he’s considering it. “Maybe I could do something when I go to South America, or Asia, if that’s where I end up. Let people discover it along with me. It’s gonna be hard, without Zayn to talk to.”

So Louis is making definite plans to leave Africa then. “He doesn’t want to go with you?”

“Dunno. I never really know what Zayn’s thinking. His heart’s in Africa, though. It’s what he paints. What he loves.”

Harry can see the intense love for the land that blazes out of every one of Zayn’s paintings scattered along their route. “He might fall in love with South America too. You two are good together.”

As Louis nods, his fingers loosen and he slides his hands beneath Harry’s and up to Harry’s wrists. “Did Liam, um, tell you anything?”

About Zayn, Harry realises, given the context. “About Livingstone? That night?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Louis repeats. “Zayn’s never—he doesn’t do that. In case you wondered. Never.”

“Neither does Li.”

“D’you think.... ” Louis trails off. “It’s not our business, I guess.”

“No.”

But they’re not discussing their own business. Harry wonders again if Louis remembers the rejected kiss. He should have told him when they woke up that morning. It’s not like he can suddenly bring it up now and say, “Hey, I know I pulled away when you tried to kiss me in Livingstone, but I was worried about your ability to consent and to know what you were actually doing, and now that you’re sober and in control of yourself, I would really, really love it if you’d try again.”

Louis’ hands tighten around his wrists, making Harry take an involuntary step forward. He manages to swivel his hands around so he can lock down on Louis’ slender wrists as well. 

He’s never held onto anyone like this.

He never wants to let go.

“Our tent’s in a bit of a ditch,” Louis says abruptly, “so I’m glad it stopped raining, otherwise we might’ve got flooded out during the night.”

Harry stops himself from saying that Louis is welcome to share his bed again. “I don’t know how you do it, always on the ground in a tent. I’m already spoiled by beds again.”

“You can get used to almost anything.”

Like Harry got used to sleeping wrapped up with Louis. “Yeah.” 

“It’s an early start tomorrow.”

A clear hint that they need to stop standing out here beneath the Zimbabwean stars and go to bed. “Sleep well in your tent.”

“You too, in your bed.”

They need to let go. 

He wants to kiss Louis so badly he can’t stand it. But the first move has to come from Louis. 

“Goodnight, Lou.”

“Night, Haz.”

They release their grips at the same time, neither going first, but Louis follows it up with the faintest trail of his hand down Harry’s spine between his bare shoulder blades as they turn back towards the camp, Louis heading left to his tent and Harry right to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	25. Chapter 25

**Day 25 - Louis**

**Matobo National Park, Zimbabwe**

It’s those eyes that do it. 

They haunt Louis all night in his tent on the damp ground, thinking about Harry in a warm, soft bed with all those sleek muscles and comforting arms and body heat. He can’t believe Harry didn’t ask him about joining the rhino expedition once. 

His eyes just looked bereft on his behalf, and Louis isn’t strong enough to withstand them. Especially when they continue over the breakfast table, sneaking him little sad glances whenever Harry thinks he’s not looking. 

“Just go,” Zayn says over his cheese toast. “You know you want to.”

“What about you?”

“It isn’t like that.”

Right. “Fine,” Louis says, and goes to his tent to change his shirt from a bright red sleeveless vest to his faded green Big Five shirt that will blend in with the bushlands of the Matobo Hills. He’s already wearing the black shorts Harry lent him in Livingstone, which he naughtily hasn’t returned. He’s not sure if Harry’s recognised them.

Just as Ian, their local tour guide, is about to pull out of the campsite, Louis swings himself up onto the safari vehicle beside Harry. 

Harry’s face lights up like Louis had pressed the switch to his electricity. “You’re joining us?”

“Rhinos are a serious proposition,” Louis tells him as the other boys shift down the seat, leaving just enough space for Louis to squeeze in, pressed up against Harry’s body. 

Harry beams down at him like it’s Christmas. 

Everything is lush and green, the day sunny with the huge fluffy white clouds Louis has come to associate with Zimbabwe. Once they reach the national park, Ian drives slowly through rich grassland, broken by rocky outcrops and low acacia trees. 

“Leopards like to hide in those,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear. 

“Really?”

“Yup. Keep an eye out. They like to stretch out along the branches.”

When Ian spots fresh rhino tracks beside the dirt road, he pulls up to a stop so they can start tracking on foot. 

“What about the leopards?” Harry asks Louis. 

“Leopards?” Niall asks, alarmed.

“In the trees.”

“There are leopards in the trees?”

“I’ve never lost a passenger yet,” Louis assures them. “We’ll be safe.”

“Why aren’t we safe?” Liam asks as he approaches with his ever-present camera ready to document Niall’s intrepid rhino-tracking adventure. 

“We’re as safe as we can be in the wild,” Louis tells him. “Nothing to worry about. It’s the middle of the day, so we’re fine. Generally you’ll only see leopards in the evening.”

“There are leopards?”

Louis loves seeing leopards dozing on their branches, but apparently the thought is a lot more panicky for others and he’s glad their group is slightly separated from the rest of his passengers. The last thing he needs is hysterical newbies on his hands. “Mostly all you’ll see out here are antelope and the occasional zebra or giraffe, along with the rhinos. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine as we gallop through the bushes.” He grins cheekily at the video camera and gives it a double thumbs up. “Now come on, lads!”

It’s joyous, running wild through the endless bushlands between the hills, African sun burning down on them as they follow the tracks of rhinos that are way ahead of them. Louis is usually keenly aware of his responsibility to his passengers, working hard to manage everything around them, but apparently his holiday at Victoria Falls released his careful control, and he feels carefree and young and jubilant as he races after Harry. 

Harry’s curls fly rampant in the warm breeze, his cheeks flushed and damp with sweat as they come to rest in a grove of small trees set between soaring boulders. He flops onto a rock beside Louis, gasping for breath as the others gather in the thicker shade further in. “I thought tracking would be a slow business,” he says as he pulls out a bottle of water from his daypack. “Want some?”

Louis forgot to bring water, but he motions for Harry to drink first. “Rhinos move a lot faster than you’d give them credit for. They can hit speeds of over thirty miles an hour.” 

“And we’re supposed to catch them?” Harry takes another swig after talking then holds out his bottle to Louis. “Today?”

The water’s warm, but soothing to his parched throat. “They’re not running,” he says once he’s satisfied himself. “And they’ll find a place to stop. I’ve tracked them before here on a couple of my early tours.”

“Do you always find them?”

“Usually. Especially with fresh tracks like we have today. We’ll see them, Haz.”

Taking the bottle back, Harry’s fingers linger against Louis’ for longer than they need to. It’s like that magical moment last night in the dark beneath the stars, gripping onto each other’s hands like they never wanted to be parted. 

Louis watches a bead of sweat slide slowly down Harry’s neck. 

He wants to follow it with his tongue.

Ugh, really not an appropriate moment to be getting turned on. 

Harry’s staring at his mouth. 

A laugh from Yolanda cuts through Louis’ awareness. They’re in public. With his passengers. And he’s Tour Leader Louis again. He can’t forget.

He hauls himself over to the larger group, cracks some jokes, mugs it up for Liam’s camera, and doesn’t allow himself to be alone with Harry until they’re tracking again, keeping busy beneath the midday sun before they finally emerge over a small rise, keeping carefully downwind, to discover the rhinos placidly grazing on the grass in a little clearing. 

“D’you know what you call a group of rhinos?” he whispers in Harry’s ear as they all hide behind low rocks and bushes to keep out of sight of the enormous animals. 

“A herd?”

“A crash.”

“What?” Harry turns his head, so close that his lips brush Louis’ cheek. “A crash of rhinos?”

“Yeah.” If Louis turned his head too, they’d be kissing. “A crash of rhinos.”

“You’re having me on.”

“Nope.” He turns his head just enough to meet Harry’s eyes, narrowed and startled. “Maybe because of the way they crash through the bush when they’re running?”

“Maybe,” Harry breathes.

He’s in public. He’s at work. He’s a professional and can’t kiss his passenger, especially not his male passenger. 

“Are you going to photograph them?” he whispers.

“Wha—oh.” Harry blinks, soft eyelashes sweeping slowly down then up again. “Yeah. Yes, I should. I am.”

*

Lunch is a picnic in another shady grove beside a narrow waterfall, which slides lazily down the side of a gigantic rock into a little pool. Everyone strips off as much as they can to wade or even swim. Louis goes in wearing Harry’s shorts and nothing else, letting the cool water soothe the unexpected heat in his blood. Harry’s done the same, showing off his butterfly and laurels and the extra nipples Louis is still trying not to look for, much to the interest of several of Louis’ new female passengers and both the Swiss and Brazilian males. Hmm, Renato might be gay too, if the way he’s stealing glances at Harry’s butterfly is anything to go by. 

Harry notices none of it, rinsing his curls in the swirling water and shaking them all over Louis and Liam and Niall, cackling delightedly when Liam leaps away. 

It really is time for Louis to leave Africa. He doesn’t want to return to any of these places without Harry. Everywhere he goes here in future he’ll see the ghost of Harry. No, two ghosts, in fact: Harry and the ghost of himself with Harry. 

They spend the afternoon climbing up to a cave filled with bushman paintings. He was sorry his passengers missed out on the big cave and paintings at Spitzkoppe, but this makes up for it. He’d forgotten about this cave. Harry is in his element and Louis asks him to take some photographs for Zayn, who’s never been here. He’ll try and persuade him to come on the return journey south. Zayn should see this place, its walls filled with paint by his brothers from another era.

As it’s nearing sunset, Louis remembers the place the first guide he had here took them to. It’s called World’s View, a sacred place, the spiritual home for the local Ndebele people, a solid granite summit surrounded by massive boulders with a three-sixty degree view of the surrounding Matobo Hills. After a quick chat with Ian, Louis ascertains from his passengers that they don’t mind returning home after dark in order to fit in this final excursion, and Ian hurries them down deep into the park to start the long climb up the steep dome of rock before the sun sinks towards the horizon. 

At the top, Harry darts around photographing the magnificent rocky views in the changing light, but Louis pulls himself up onto one of the giant boulders resting on the top and crawls along the edge until he feels like he has the world laid out before him. He curls his body around his knees to watch as the sky turns fiery orange and pink, turning all the granite rocks to gold. This is the kind of wild beauty of Africa that he’s going to miss. 

He loves it so much it hurts. 

“It’s beautiful.” Harry’s climbed up behind him, and he slides into place at Louis’ side. 

They watch the spectacular show put on by the sunset in awed silence. When Louis starts to shiver as the day’s heat drops away, Harry eases around Louis’ back and spreads his legs, offering the warmth of his body just like he did in the rain at Victoria Falls. 

Louis loves this too. He loves the way Harry keeps using his body to take care of him. Loves the way Harry cares so much about Louis’ comfort and well-being. Loves how safe Harry makes him feel. At the same time, he loves that Harry comes to him in need as well, trusting that Louis will take care of him in return. 

Michelle never accepted any form of care-taking from Louis. 

He’d stopped trusting his ability to give it, after the debacle of his mother’s funeral and his attack on his distraught sister. 

It’s a long drive back to Bulawayo beneath the stars, and if Harry falls asleep on the journey, it’s too dark for it to matter that his head finds Louis’ shoulder and Louis’ arm wraps around his shoulders to pull him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	26. Chapter 26

**Day 26 - Harry**

**Bulawayo to Great Zimbabwe and Lake Mutirikwe**

It’s going to happen. Harry knows it for certain now. It’s just a matter of when. 

Yesterday Louis caved when Harry didn’t even ask, and spent the whole day glued to Harry’s side despite being on duty, despite officially being Tour Leader Louis. 

They almost kissed. Again.

It’ll happen.

Harry folds his legs up beneath him on his seat watching still more green hills and rock formations roll by outside the window on the way to the city of Masvingo. Masvingo is the Shona word for “fort”, Liam informs them, and it refers to the nearby magnificent ruins of Great Zimbabwe, an Iron Age stone city, or fort, which they’re going to visit this afternoon. 

It’s hard to care about national monuments when his mind is filled with Louis. Louis barely talked to the others yesterday. He didn’t pay the slightest attention to Alicia—although maybe Harry has Niall to thank for that, since he kept her occupied for most of the day. Harry hasn’t spoken to many of the newcomers either. They feel like intruders, all wrong. The girls keep eyeing him up and he needs to find a way to work being gay into a conversation because it’s getting irritating now, the way they always try to divert his attention from Louis. Didn’t they notice yesterday? It’s a shame Eric is gay, and Renato might be as well, because the new group of girls seem like they’re as interested in hooking up as they are in seeing Africa. 

He misses Rachel and Nicole. 

But why is he bothering to even think about the girls. This morning, instead of withdrawing after the excesses of yesterday, Louis didn’t keep his distance. He invited Harry to help him fry the eggs for breakfast even though he’s on dishwashing, holding eye contact instead of slipping away, his eyes soft and warm, crinkling at the sides when he laughed at Harry’s lame jokes. He made Harry coffee, let Harry make him tea, and rehashed the whole rhino expedition for Liam’s internet audience in such a hilarious fashion that Harry caught himself wishing he’d been there to watch Louis experience it. 

He had been.

Right at Louis’ side.

They set up camp on the shores of Lake Mutirikwe, a huge man-made dam sprawling between rocky hills, and make a quick lunch of sandwiches before Louis hurries them back to Rafiki for the short drive to Great Zimbabwe. To Harry’s delight, Louis leaps up into the cab beside Zayn. A second outing in two days with Louis!

It’s even more surprising when Harry discovers they have a local guide to show them around the ruins. Louis slips into the group at Harry’s side as the guide, whose name Harry missed, starts the tour inside the tiny museum, stopping at every exhibit to read the label aloud and exclaim with deadpan intensity, “Wow!” after every sentence. 

After ten minutes, Harry’s mouth hurts from trying not to laugh at him and he almost loses it when Louis’ twinkling eyes meet his. Louis cocks his head towards the door, and when the guide leads the group on to the next exhibit, Harry follows Louis ducking behind a large glass cabinet and then out the door.

They burst into hysterical laughter the moment they’re clear of the museum. “He’s new,” Louis gasps, holding his stomach from laughing so hard. “I’ll have to tell the company not to use him again. That was unbearable!”

“Isn’t he meant to be guiding us around the city?” Harry asks, sagging against a wooden fence to catch his breath. “I mean, we can read what the museum says for ourselves.”

“Right?” Louis laughs again. “Oh, man, I’m a terrible tour leader, skipping out like that, but I don’t care. I love this place and I want you to see it properly. Not like that! Come on.”

The ruins of Great Zimbabwe nestle between the green and granite hills that make up this region. Louis says they’ll save for last the towering walled enclosure over to the right, but first he leads Harry up a steep path to what he calls the Hill Complex. It’s the African version of European castles, Harry realises. They wind their way up steep stone stairways, squeezing between solid rock and walls made of stones cut in a vague brick shape and tightly stacked on top of each other without any mortar to hold them together. 

“It’s been here for almost a thousand years,” Louis tells him, steadying Harry’s arm when he slips. “This hill is called the King’s Mountain.”

“What king?” Harry asks. 

“The king of the Shona people. We don’t know very much. There’s very little recorded. They believe that between ten and twenty thousand people lived here at its peak. These are the second-oldest structures still standing in Southern Africa, and the Great Enclosure down there is largest ancient structure south of the Sahara. Look.” 

Stopping at a gap in the stone wall, where stones have crumbled away over the centuries, Louis turns Harry’s shoulders to the side and points down into the green valley. In the distance, Harry can make out the circular shape of the massive walls of the Great Enclosure. He had no idea that there were buildings in Africa as old as those in England. He’d never heard of this place before seeing it on their itinerary. It’s magnificent, and he grabs his camera and gets busy. 

They wander through the hilltop ruins, hand in hand other than when Harry’s taking pictures. Colourful lichen decorates the ancient stone walls, trees pop out unexpectedly from what appears to be solid rock. It’s silent, not a single bird call or human sound. On the far side of the hill, the life-giving waters of Lake Mutirikwe glitter brightly blue in the sunshine. 

“Like your eyes,” Harry murmurs to Louis as they lean against some boulders to take in the endless view of rocky hills and he snaps the silhouette of Louis’ body against the sky. 

“What?”

“The lake. In the sun. It shines like your eyes.”

To his delight, Louis blushes. “My eyes are boring,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “Blue is so common. Green eyes like yours are so much more interesting.”

He looks up again and their eyes meet. Colour doesn’t matter, Harry thinks faintly, when it’s _Louis_ behind the blue. 

Laughter carries on the breeze and he looks back to see that their guide has finally brought everyone else up to the Hill Complex.

“C’mon.” Louis grabs his hand. “I can’t listen to the word _wow_ again. There’s still so much more to see.”

They dart down the stony path that winds around the side of the hill, laughing and tripping and falling against each other, bodies hot, sweat soaking through their t-shirts from the sultry afternoon. Louis pauses at the bathrooms for them to splash water over their flushed faces and Harry knows his curls have gone wild in the humidity and he doesn’t even care. He drenches them beneath the tap and jams his cap back on, laughing when Louis spills water all over the front of his shirt. 

“We’re a mess,” Louis laments as they head towards what he calls the Valley Complex. 

“A happy mess,” Harry corrects, and Louis beams up at him. 

“Very happy.”

Harry gives in to the temptation to brush a finger along Louis’ wet cheek. He smooths away some of the water dripping from his hair. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Louis says. 

They have the valley to themselves, just as they did the hill, so Harry doesn’t pull away when Louis reaches out to hold his hand again. There’s no one here to see, and somehow Harry doesn’t feel like the ancient people of this land would mind. This is friendly land. He’s never been anywhere before where he’s felt so welcome, like the spirits of the dead are smiling at him, laughing along with him and Louis. 

“There’s a replica Shona village over in that direction,” Louis points with their linked hands, “but that’s where the guide will take the others after the Hill Complex. They usually put on a rain dance for tourists. You don’t want to see that, do you?”

“A rain dance?”

“Like this.” Pulling away, Louis launches into crazy moves that can’t possibly be an accurate representation of an African rain dance. His hips go wild.

Harry remembers this from the club in Livingstone. 

“Better not,” he says, grabbing Louis’ shoulder. 

“It’s working, though.” With a mischievous grin, Louis motions to the sky behind Harry. “Look at all the storm clouds I conjured up.”

There were only a few fluffy white clouds earlier, but Louis is right, dark storm clouds are rushing towards them. 

“Do you have a no-rain dance to perform?”

Louis shakes his head. “Afternoon storms are quite common in these parts. Let’s get to the Great Enclosure before we run out of time.” 

Hand in hand, they clamber between the low crumbling walls of the Valley Complex, weaving through long grass and giant aloes that soar above them like palm trees. The wind whips up, creating an eerie rustle through the grass and trees. 

“They say this is where the ghosts hang out,” Louis says, pulling Harry up over a tumble of ancient stones. “Can you feel them?”

It’s what Harry was feeling earlier, wisps of a civilisation centuries old, people who lived here, loved here, and died here. 

“Friendly ghosts,” he says, a little afraid Louis might laugh at him, that he was only joking about the ghosts, but Louis stops dead beneath an aloe.

“Yes. That’s what I always feel here. You feel it too?”

“I do.”

“They’re still here,” Louis says, his voice hushed as he looks around them. “Hundreds of years later. Or maybe it’s the echo of them, since nothing ever came to replace them.”

Maybe the echo of Harry and Louis will live on here too, Harry thinks, in this place of secrets and memories. It will hold the echo of two boys from England who once, briefly, loved each other here. 

Bright shapes bob through the greenery in the distance, the rest of their group heading for the village and the rain dance. 

“Come on.” 

This time Harry’s the one to pull them along, heading for the giant walls of the Great Enclosure, wanting time to explore it before the downpour that’s headed their way. He gives a little wave to the ghosts around them, but they don’t have time to linger. 

He slows down when they reach the outer walls, rising more than thirty feet above their heads in smooth stone curves. A skittering sound catches his attention.

“Vervets,” Louis whispers, and sure enough, tiny silver and black heads poke up over the tops of the walls to investigate the human intrusion. 

“Hello,” Harry says softly, waving to them too. The heads disappear, and others appear further along, but vanish as soon as Harry looks. 

The stone walls sweep around in a large oval shape, protecting an inner courtyard of grass and sand. A cylindrical tower soars up between two enormous red milkwood trees on the far side, with a jumbled heaps of stones strewn across the centre, the sole surviving remnants of prior civilisation. 

Thunder rumbles above as they pick their way through the rubble, monkeys scampering along with them, just out of sight. Harry has no idea how to capture any of this on film.

“I can’t,” he says when Louis looks questioningly at his camera. His hand flutters around, pointing. “How do I?”

“Film me,” Louis says.

He guides Harry around the ruins, his voice soft as he recounts all the facts he knows about the mythical inhabitants of southern Africa’s largest medieval kingdom. It’s footage Liam can use later, Harry knows, and he stops caring about the details and just revels in the musical cadence of Louis’ voice, the way his eyes sparkle as he shares his knowledge. Bright sunshine filters through the gathering black clouds, creating light effects that will make Liam cry with joy as the thunder punctuates Louis’ sentences and the scurrying monkeys create the illusion that the ruins are filled with living ghosts. 

Louis falls silent when they enter one of the curved passageways squeezed between towering walls, so narrow they can barely slither through. Harry drops his camera back in its bag after the first few steps, afraid of scraping it against the cool granite, and when they’re in so deep he can’t see daylight around either corner in front or behind, Louis stops abruptly, turns around and kisses him, just as the storm breaks overhead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	27. Chapter 27

**Day 27 - Louis**

**Lake Mutirikwe to Harare, Zimbabwe**

Louis drifted through yesterday evening as though in a dream. The storm didn’t let up, so making dinner in the tiny shelter at the campsite was a challenge, but it barely penetrated. He kissed Harry. He kissed another man. And, oh, did he like it. 

Every time it started to feel beyond belief, he’d meet Harry’s eyes, dancing in the firelight, burning with the same memory as Louis had. Deep in the heart of the ruins of a great medieval civilisation, they’d kissed. 

It happened.

He floated off to bed into a dreamless sleep beneath the lashing of the rain, and this morning the sun’s come out and it’s not only a new day but it’s a new world for Louis. A world in which he’s kissed Harry. 

And longs to kiss him again.

In what seems to have become their custom, he makes coffee for Harry while Harry brews his tea, giving them an excuse to come together to exchange them during breakfast. Louis’ lost track of which duties Harry’s on, but it no longer seems to matter. As long as Harry does whatever else he needs to, he’s welcome in Louis’ kitchen, and he stands flipping French toast in a white t-shirt so thin all his tattoos are visible, curls catching the rising sun, and Louis wants to drop to his knees and—

Whoops. Not during breakfast in front of all his passengers. 

Harry smirks at him as if he can read Louis’ mind. “Coffee! Thank you, Lou. Your tea’s over here. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

Imagine a world where Louis could be free to give Harry a good morning kiss, to lick the taste of coffee from his lips. “Hi, love,” he says instead.

Harry glows. “Hi, love.” His voice, gravelly with sleep, shimmers down Louis’ spine. “How’re you this fine morning?”

“Excellent.” Fuck, he needs to touch him. The tea is close enough for him to press hard against Harry as he reaches for it. 

Harry shifts against him, rubbing the back of his hand ever so casually down Louis’ chest.

A little bit further.

He pauses just before it’s too late, leaving Louis rigid, and purses his lips just enough to blow Louis an almost invisible kiss. “I am excellent as well,” he says with another smirk. 

Louis retrieves his tea and retreats a safe two feet away to drink it. “Be a good boy now, Curly,” he advises after his first sip.

Harry chokes satisfactorily on his coffee.

Louis lifts inquisitorial eyebrows. _Liked that, did you?_ he asks without words.

In reply, Harry’s pink little tongue, the very tongue that set Louis on fire a few short hours ago, traces a perfect circle around his lips as he drops his gaze down Louis’ body, then glances up through his lashes to ensure Louis understood.

Oh, Louis understood, all right.

“Be good,” he says again. 

“I didn’t know we were on cooking today!” The intrusive Australian accent reminds Louis that the woman stepping between them is Katrina, the environmental lawyer. He put her in Harry’s duty group, much to his later regret since she’s constantly eyeing Harry up, but she’s looking at Louis now, distressed. “I’m sorry, I’d have come earlier if I’d realised.”

“You’re not,” he says. She’s a good sort, solid and smart, and Harry’s gay. Louis has nothing to worry about. He can hardly blame her for wanting to eat Harry alive. “Haz just helps me out in the kitchen because he likes to cook and I like being lazy.”

“Lazy?” She laughs, relaxed now that she knows she hasn’t been unknowingly shirking. “You have more energy than the rest of us, Louis. I’ve no idea how you do it.”

“It’s all an illusion.”

“D’you want French toast?” Harry sticks out a plate with two slices on it. Smirks gone, he’s scowling at Katrina. “You can take this or have it cold. Maple syrup’s over the other side of the table.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.” She takes the plate in bewilderment. “These look good, Harry.”

“He’s a good cook, our Harry.” Louis smiles as warmly as he can, getting up to reach for the maple syrup and sticking his elbow in Harry’s side as he does so. “Here you go, Katrina.”

“Thanks.”

 _Be good_ , he mouths when Harry glares at him for not dispatching Katrina to the far side of the table. Two can play at Harry’s game, and Louis slides the tip of his forefinger into his mouth and sucks on it deliberately.

Harry spins back around to the frying pan, but not before Louis sees the colour flood his cheeks. 

This is fun. 

*

The first half of today’s agenda is driving north through the centre of Zimbabwe to Harare, the capital city. It’s a five-hour trip, heading up from the lower lying south, and Louis puts on Niall’s album to listen to Harry’s words while the hills turn flat and most of the giant rocks disappear. 

“You okay?” Zayn asks after an hour or so of no conversation from Louis.

“I’m excellent.” He hugs Harry’s blue hoodie more tightly around him and thinks of how happy Harry always looks when he sees Louis wearing it. “How about you, Zayn?”

Zayn’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push. “Also excellent.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The finality in Zayn’s voice makes it clear he doesn’t want the conversation to continue. That’s all right. Louis can live with that. 

Except.

“If you ever want to talk about Liam—” he starts.

“I don’t.”

“Or anything else—”

“No.” But Zayn reaches over, as if to counteract the severity of his rejection, and pats Louis on the knee. “We’re good, man. I just—I’m not you. Talking about this shit—I will, if I want to. I’ll say.”

That’s the most Louis can hope for. “Okay.” He pats Zayn back and gives him a happy grin. “Harry and I kissed. Just so you know. Like, for real. Sober.”

Humour lightens the look Zayn slants at him. “You remember it this time?”

“Fuck yeah.” Louis shivers at the memory. It got hot and heavy a lot faster than he expected, not at all appropriate for ancient ruins, and possibly might have gone a lot further than just making out if the rest of the group hadn’t arrived for a noisy, rushed glimpse of the Great Enclosure before running through the rain back to the truck, but he can’t feel disappointed. It was perfect. Now he knows what Harry tastes like, knows how urgently he kisses, the desperate little needy sounds he makes, the frantic press of his lower body against Louis’, and how much he loves it when Louis takes over and pushes his hands back against the wall and makes him take it. 

His brain keeps supplying him with a thousand scenarios he wants to try out on Harry, as though it’s decided this is it, they’re together and a couple and it’s forever, no question. 

It isn’t. They’re not. 

But just for this morning, watching marshmallow clouds drift over the green Zimbabwean landscape, he lets himself dream.

*

“Louis.”

“Haz?” Louis’ in the restrooms at the truck stop halfway between Masvingo and Harare where he and Zayn always break the drive. He thought Harry was buying chocolates in the shop with Liam and Niall when he nipped in here. 

Harry breaks all conventions to come over and lean against the wall right next to Louis. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” How is Louis meant to concentrate on peeing with Harry right there? “Just gimme a sec.”

“Oh.” Harry blinks, as if only now taking in their surroundings. “Right. Okay. Just—I was trying to do it in private.”

“It’ll still be private ten seconds from now.”

Harry, naughty minx that he is, drops his eyes for half a moment, then grins. “Sorry. I’ll wait over there.”

Louis turns towards him once he’s zipped up. “You have a question?”

“Yes.” Harry has Louis’ Table Mountain cap in his hands and he’s fidgeting with it, turning it around and around in the hands he had on Louis yesterday. “This afternoon is free time in Harare, right?”

“Yeah.” Louis likes stopping at this truck stop because it always has running water. He lets it trickle over his hands, cooling him down. “You’ll have three or four hours, depending what time we get there, to explore the city.”

“What do you do during that time?

“A short grocery run to fill up on fresh food for the next few days crossing Zambia, but otherwise I usually hang out with Zayn while he gets the truck serviced. Why? You can’t tell me you want to come grocery shopping instead of exploring a new city.”

Before Louis turns the water off, Harry hands him his cap and leans forward to wet his hands, wiping them over his sweaty face. If the world was different, if it were kind to people like him and Harry, he could lean forward and lick the drop that’s gliding down Harry’s jaw. 

“No.” Harry dumps another handful of water over his curls and grins as it cascades down. “I mean, I’m very happy to come shopping with you again, I enjoyed it, but afterwards, since this is the last time for a while we’ll actually be in a city, I wondered if you’d, you know, um—”

“If I’d what?” Hire a hotel room for three hours to give them some privacy?

“Goonadatewithme.”

“Go.... ” Louis mentally sorts through the mumbled sounds. “A date?”

“Shh!” Harry looks furtively around, as if the door wasn’t right next to him and clearly hasn’t opened since he came in. “I want to take you somewhere. Only, I don’t know Harare so I don’t know where to go. It’ll be, like, a late lunch, since I know we’ll be at our campsite out of town for dinner, but—please?”

Harry wants to take him on a date. 

“Or if it’s not what you want,” Harry adds hurriedly, “just tell me. It’s okay. I know it’s too soon. I know I shouldn’t be asking now. The timing’s all wrong and you just—Michelle.” His hand flails a bit. Louis gives him back the cap for something to do with it. “But—we only have seventeen days left and—you can tell me. If you don’t want me—”

“I do.”

“You do?”

If there wasn’t the danger of a local Zimbabwean walking through that door any moment, Louis would pull Harry into his arms. “Did it seem like me—” Kissing you. “—doing _that_ wasn’t wanting you?”

“I thought—I was scared maybe you regretted it.”

“I don’t.”

“I don’t either.”

Good. At least they’re on the same page about that. Louis has no idea what this chapter is doing or where it’ll end up, but at least they’re together in it. “Harare doesn’t have great restaurants in the city centre,” he says, trying to recall the last time he walked around. “It’s more of a takeout kind of place.”

Harry’s face falls. “There’s nowhere? But it’s the capital city.”

“It’s been through a lot.” Zimbabwe in general barely reaches subsistence level for most citizens. Many still live in mud huts and grow their own food in a patch of dirt beside it. “There’s a Nando’s. It’s not posh, but—”

“Yes!” Harry gestures between the two of them with the cap. “We’re not posh right now, and it’s not like it’s dinner anyway. But would you go there with me? Just the two of us?”

He has no business doing so. “I would love to.”

It’s worth it to watch the happiness brighten Harry’s face. “Thank you, Lou.”

*

Grocery shopping with Harry is a delight. The shelves at Louis’ favourite supermarket are unusually well stocked, which is a relief, given that he didn’t check with any southbound tour leaders in Livingstone, and he’s able to find everything he wants in a single Pick n Pay. He texts Zayn to come and pick them up.

Zayn rolled his eyes when Louis told him about the proposed date, but offered Louis a clean shirt with buttons to wear instead of one of his ripped t-shirts or vests. Louis pulls it on while Zayn closes up the kitchen compartments, and when they arrive at the garage in town, from which they can walk to the Nando’s he has in mind, Harry emerges from the back of the truck in a short-sleeved navy Henley Louis’ sure he’s seen on Liam and the tight jeans he wore the night of the booze cruise. 

He gives a shy little wave as Louis’ eyes travel over him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” 

“I feel like one of your dads,” Zayn says. “Do I need to have a chat about curfews and intentions?”

“Meet you here at five.” Harry’s hand flutters up to pat his curls, which he’s clearly just brushed. “I heard Louis’ speech to the others earlier. I’ll have him back safely.”

Zayn nods, taking this unexpectedly seriously. “Be safe,” he emphasises, then pushes Louis in Harry’s direction with a hard slap on his shoulder. “Have fun, boys.”

“Do you mind if we bring him back some chicken afterwards?” Louis asks as they head down the dusty street into the heart of the city. “He loves Nando’s.”

“Of course.” 

Louis is aware his passengers are loose in the city. He wonders what the newcomers thought of Harry staying back when they were all dropped off an hour ago. He really should care a little more about appearing professional—but he wants this too badly. It’s not like they can walk down the road holding hands, but they’re dressed up as much as they can be at the last minute on the road and they’re heading out on their first (only?) date and Harry’s beaming at the world around him like it was especially formed for his and Louis’ pleasure and it’s hard to remember anyone else exists right now. 

There’s not much to see in Harare. It’s a city clearly past its heyday, the buildings mostly tired and shabby, but it’s clean and vibrant with life on this sunny Wednesday afternoon. As they walk down the wide, unpainted streets, Louis identifies jacaranda and frangipani trees for Harry, and Harry dances with excitement when they pass a whole row of soaring palms, which he can identify for himself. They cross a little park, no more, really, than a green square, and Harry pulls out his camera to take pictures of the city’s cathedral, which doesn’t bear much relation to the ornate cathedrals of Europe but is impressive all the same. 

They have two hours left by the time they arrive at Nando’s. It’s midafternoon, so there are plenty of places to sit. Harry ushers Louis to a booth in the far corner where they’ll have at least a glimmer of privacy. 

“Do you know what you want?” he asks, fussing with the menus they were given when they walked in. “When you’re ready, I’ll go up and order.”

They choose chicken wings, because Harry says they were too good in Cape Town for him to be vegetarian here, and grilled corn on the cob and extra portions of hot chips, and eat with their fingers and laugh at themselves. So many times on this trip Louis has seen Harry out of his depth or discomforted or uneasy, and it’s a joy to see him so relaxed. He literally glows. Louis tells himself it’s because Harry got sunburned on the Motobo Hills chasing the rhinos, but it’s more than that. 

“It’s become so normal,” Harry is saying, licking peri-peri sauce off his fingers, “something new to see every day, a constantly changing environment. At the start I didn’t know how you did it, how you coped, but I get it now. You get used to life on the road. I’m used to it and it’s all still new to me, so for you, when you’ve been to all these places so many times—I’m jealous that you get to see them in all seasons. I keep imagining what it would look like in winter, or in the dry season, but you know. You know all of it. You’ve seen it all before, done it all before.”

“Haven’t been on a date before.”

Harry dims a little. He takes a sip of his Coke and then meets Louis’ gaze head on. “Is it okay? Not just being here, but—that I asked you?”

Louis nods, but before he can speak, Harry barrels on.

“I’m not putting pressure on you. I don’t expect anything by this. I just—I wanted to do this, and I figured if you didn’t want to, then you’d tell me no. I expected no, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m presuming quite a lot.”

Louis feels strangely nervous. “Given I—what I did in the ruins, I wouldn’t say you’re presuming anything. I’m the one who....” They’re in public. No one is near their table, but he still needs to be careful. “I initiated it. I want this, Harry.”

“Good.” Harry brushes his curls aside and settles back into his seat. His eyes flick around the room before returning to Louis. “I just wanted to be sure. Have you—with a guy? Ever?”

“You mean, what, _done it?”_ Louis thought he was beyond blushing when talking about sex. Apparently he isn’t.

Harry isn’t either. “Anything,” he clarifies, leaning forward again. His curls fall across his eyes and he pushes them back impatiently. “From what you told me, I didn’t get the impression that you have. I wasn’t even sure you were—I mostly thought you were....” _Straight_ , he mouths. 

“I tried to be.” This is an important conversation to have. Probably not ideal to have it in a city centre restaurant in a country where the subject at hand is illegal, but it’s not like it’ll be easy to have it around all his passengers either. At least here he’s not on duty, he doesn’t have to be alert for the needs of others. He can give his whole attention to Harry. “I wanted to be, it was easier. But I’m not. Definitely not. Especially not around you.”

That pleases Harry. He glances around again. “So you haven’t done, like, anything? With a guy?”

“Only you.” His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, it’s beating so hard with that admission. 

Over the past month he’s learned a dozen versions of Harry’s smile, but he’s never before seen the one that slowly spreads across his face now. It’s sweet, jubilant, and hungry as fuck. “I needed to know,” Harry says. “I needed to know you want this. That’s why I pulled away in Livingstone, because you were drunk and I didn’t want you to do something you’d regret. That’s the only reason I stopped you.”

“Stopped me?” Louis doesn’t follow.

“At the club. You—you tried to—” Harry darts another look around. “Kiss me,” he whispers.

“Tried?” _I pulled away_ , Harry said. Louis tried to kiss him and Harry rejected him and—Jesus, is that why Louis cried? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how. I’m sorry. I should have. But when you didn’t remember, I panicked. I thought maybe it had just been because you were drunk and you wouldn’t consider such a thing sober and I didn’t—you’d been so upset—”

“So you felt sorry for me?”

“No,” Harry says emphatically. “I just don’t want to make anything worse for you. I don’t want to be a bad thing in your life, Louis.”

He means it. He’s not being condescending like Michelle was. “Be honest,” he says, though, because that still stings. “Don’t keep things from me for—for my own good, or to protect me from anything.”

“I promise. And you do the same. Promise me you’ll tell me if you change your mind, or if there’s anything you don’t want. I don’t want anything, anything at all, if you don’t want it too.”

That’s easy, because Louis wants everything. As Harry said, they have seventeen days left, which is a minuscule amount of time out of their lives, and they can’t be together at all publicly, but Louis wants to maximise whatever he can get. “I want it,” he says. “But we have to have rules.”

“Okay,” Harry says seriously, nodding. “Tell me.”

“Nothing in public. Not only because it’s illegal, but I can’t get fired, especially not now when I need a good reference to get a job at another overland company. I’ve only ever worked for this one.”

“I get that and I’ll respect it.”

He’s so earnest that Louis reaches out to flick the back of his hand. “Maybe a bit of teasing,” he concedes, “and you flirt kind of constantly, so it’s probably best not to change that entirely.”

“Maybe I should flirt with others—”

“No!” Louis’ vehemence startles them both. “Sorry. I just—it’s hard.”

“Hard?” Laughter lights up Harry’s intent eyes. “Hard, Louis?”

It’s this kind of teasing Louis doesn’t want to lose. He winks to let Harry knows he appreciates it. “Not in a good way, Harriet.”

Harry sobers. “I know. It’s the same for me. I wanted to strangle Alicia the other day.”

“Alicia?”

“From New York? You know, tall and blonde and super confident?”

Shit, yes, Alicia Winston, advertising, never camped before. “Really?” He draws out the word. “What exactly was she doing?”

“Talking to you.” Harry’s voice is deeper than usual and he looks embarrassed. “Trying to get your attention.”

“I’m not into Alicia, Harry.”

“No?”

“What about Katrina?” Louis asks, turning the tables. “Or Eric? He keeps checking you out. Renato too.”

“Do they?”

“You know they do. You’re very nice to look at.”

“Am I?” Christ, can Harry’s voice get any deeper? “Not, you know, _hard_ to look at?”

Louis’ lips twitch. “Behave.”

“Or?” 

How did Louis land himself with such a naughty boy? “When we reach Lake Malawi,” he says, trying to keep his voice stern and utterly failing, “there’s that island I told you about. Everyone else will be busy with horse rides and whatever else. There’ll be privacy. I’m gonna keep count of your transgressions, if you’re not careful.”

This is meant to be a warning, but Harry’s eyes gleam with delight. “’m looking forward to it,” he says, voice rough. 

Louis imagines him saying other things in that voice, things impossible to say in this insecure, public place, things he might murmur in Louis’ ear as he touches him in places he’s never been touched by a man before, and he knows it’s going to be a very long trip through Zambia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters today!

**Day 28 - Harry**

**Harare, Zimbabwe to Lusaka, Zambia**

Louis promised. 

That’s what Harry keeps thinking after their official but informal date in downtown Harare. All through the dinner of turmeric and black pepper rice with beef stew that Louis lets him help make, he keeps in mind Louis’ promise of what’s to come while they meticulously move around the kitchen area avoiding each other’s touch. Harry sits with Liam, Niall and Alicia instead of joining Louis and Zayn, and discovers Alicia’s pretty friendly for a New Yorker and really smart.

Louis didn’t even remember her name. His own passenger!

Harry forgives himself for feeling a bit smug. 

Thursday is a long driving day with a border crossing. Harry’s up before five to get a start on making sandwiches for people’s lunch before there’s any sign of life from Zayn and Louis’ tent. He feels privileged that he’s allowed to know where the key is kept for the kitchen compartments and he’s almost done when Louis appears at five-thirty, rubbing his eyes and looking adorably rumpled. Harry settles for a single stroke of Louis’ hair out of his face while handing him his tea. “Morning, love.”

As intended, that makes Louis laugh. “Isn’t that my line?”

“Mine too now.”

Others are emerging, so there’s no chance for private conversation but it’s coming, Harry reminds himself. Two days of driving, then they’ll be at the lake. 

It takes six hours to reach Zambia from Harare, culminating in a steep, twisting descent to their old friend the Zambezi River. It’s not a quick border, and everyone wilts in the forty degree heat except for Louis, who buzzes around smoothing things with officials and making people laugh as the hours drag by. Harry ends up beneath a tree he doesn’t recognise, teaching Rolf some of the intricacies of his fancy camera now that he’s had some experience using it. 

The landscape changes dramatically once they’re in Zambia, turning far more tropical and steamy now they’ve left the high Zimbabwean plateau. Their camp on the outskirts of the Zambian capital, Lusaka, is only a couple of hours further on from the border. Along the way, Harry counts three trucks come to grief on the narrow, mountainous roads, including one upside down at the bottom of a ravine. 

The new campsite is mired in mud, but once the tents are up, he finds the water in the showers is hot and Harry luxuriates in it. His body still tingles from when he had Louis pressed up against him in the ruins of Great Zimbabwe. He couldn’t do anything about it on the last two nights, their Zimbabwean campsites offering only freezing trickles of water in the showers, but he could tonight.

He could.

But.

He’ll have Louis doing things to him if he just waits two more days. 

He’s not sure quite what Louis has planned, how far Louis wants to go on his island in Malawi, but if Harry waits, if he holds out until then, it could be quite spectacular.

“About time,” Louis calls when Harry shows up to help with dinner. 

Today actually is his day for cooking, so the others in his new duty group, Katrina, Eric and Renato, are there too, already chopping vegetables. Harry waves his apology to them for being late. “What can I do?”

It’s a sausage and vegetable pasta bake, as he recalls. Louis motions over to the sausages. “Cut those up for me, please.”

Harry doesn’t have to think about where to find the extra chopping boards or his favourite knife, which it seems Louis kept the others from using. He sets up quickly and gets to work.

“Enjoying the hot water, were you?” Louis asks under cover of Katrina and Eric arguing about the best way to slice green peppers. 

Harry’s hand slips off the knife. 

Louis winks at him.

Okay, fine, two can play this game. “I’m waiting,” Harry whispers when Louis gets back from fetching the cheese from the mini refrigerator at the back of the truck. 

“For what—” Louis’ voice breaks off as his brain links Harry’s words with his previous comment. It’s almost comical the way his face changes, genial smile replaced by glass-eyed desire. “Oh,” he says dumbly.

Harry rescues the chunk of cheese before it can fall into the squelching mud. “Thought you might like it if I did.”

“Yes,” Louis says, still unmoving. “I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Good.” Harry blows him a tiny kiss as he sets the cheese up on the table in front of Louis with the grater and joins in the pepper argument on Eric’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters today!

**Day 29 - Louis**

**Lusaka to Chipata, Zambia**

Louis has never been fond of these two driving days through Zambia. It’s the only way to reach Malawi from Zimbabwe, other than using a far more treacherous route through Mozambique where passenger vehicles are regularly attacked, shot at, and even set on fire, but it’s boring and frustrating. Today consists of eleven hours following the Great East Road roughly parallel to the Mozambique border, winding along the top of a deep canyon formed by a river that’s only there occasionally. It’s there now, gushing brown water through the thick green forest down below, and Louis watches it and tries his best not to think about Harry.

Harry, who’s waiting.

Who said so with such innocence, as though he had no idea of the conflagration he was setting loose through Louis’ body.

If asked, Louis wouldn’t have named it as something that would matter to him much. He’s never been that experimental with sex, simple with his needs, but maybe that’s been a reflection of who he’s been with. Phone sex is as adventurous as he’s ever got, and even that was through necessity. Michelle occasionally liked him to hold her down, which he liked, but they never went as far as, say, him tying her up.

He could tie Harry up with his scarves.

Damn it. Don’t get hard where Zayn can see. 

He shifts down in his seat and bends his legs, feet on the dash so his right knee provides a bit of a barrier, because now he’s started down this path he doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s had a lot of sex in his life, Louis has. It wasn’t the greatest at first, as neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but they both learned and he’s pretty certain he’s been a satisfactory lover to the girlfriends he’s had over the years. But he’s never felt anything like this electric spark at the mere thought of touching Harry. Maybe it’s because he’s a guy—but Louis suspects more likely it’s because it’s Harry. He could’ve slept with another man, with multiple men, and never felt it. It might have been good, really good, but never....this. Whatever _this_ is.

Harry.

It’s Harry.

Today is Friday. Two weeks from now they’ll be heading into Kenya tomorrow, to Nairobi and the end of their four thousand mile journey. It’ll be his final night with Harry. 

They have only two weeks left and tonight doesn’t count because they’re in a tiny campsite with zero opportunity for privacy. 

Why hasn’t he been sleeping with Harry all along, honestly. He knew he wanted to, right back in Namibia, at the hot sulphur pool of Ai-Ais on day four out of forty-four potential days he could have spent with him. All he has left are fourteen.

There’s so much he wants to do.

And almost no opportunity.

Malawi, he reminds himself. Malawi will bring him Kande Island. There will be chances in Tanzania too, maybe not for doing that much, but for doing something. And then, less than a week from now they’ll cross the sea to Zanzibar. Where the tents are left behind and they have three extravagant nights in hotels. With solid walls and proper beds and total privacy inside the rooms. 

Lake Malawi and Zanzibar. That’s what he and Harry have, and he’s going to make the fucking most of them he can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters today!

**Day 30 - Harry**

**Chipata, Zambia to Kande Beach, Malawi**

Another morning, another border crossing. Zayn has them there when the border opens, barely after sunrise, which is a good thing because it takes a full hour to process out of Zambia. They have to queue up to each fill out their details in a single book.

“This border’s a bit different,” Louis announces when he emerges from the official building with Duncan and Danny, who’d been last in the queue. “Instead of reboarding Rafiki for Zayn to drive us across to the Malawian border post, we walk. Come on, you lot, follow me.”

Last night at dinner in the midst of a heavy tropical storm, Harry stayed away from Louis. It was too hard to be near him without wanting to drag him out into the night, safe in the rain from observers. But they’re almost in Malawi now, and maybe Harry’s a silly romantic who needs to be stopped, but if this is where the first sexual thing between him and Louis is going to happen, then he wants to walk into the country at Louis’ side.

“Harriet,” Louis says as Harry forces his way through the group of Veronique, Alicia, Nora and Katrina to reach him. “Time to say goodbye to Zambia for a second time.”

Last time they were in Zambia, Harry pulled away when Louis tried to kiss him. He doesn’t necessarily have the best memories of the country. “And hello to Malawi,” he says. 

The great thing with Louis—one of many great things, in Harry’s opinion—is his ability to follow where Harry’s mind goes. As the women chatter around them, under guise of adjusting his cap (still Harry’s Namibian flag cap), he obscures his face sufficiently from them to wink at Harry. “Lake Malawi is always a highlight of this trip.”

Harry can’t wait. 

As they head down the dirt road to the gate in the fence that separates Zambia from Malawi, their hands knock together. They don’t pause, definitely don’t even attempt to link fingers, but each time the back of Louis’ hand brushes his, Harry feels a little shiver of anticipation. 

They step through the gate together, taking advantage of the crush of the others around them to press fully up against each other.

This is it. This is the country where it’s going to happen.

They’re in it.

Immigration into Malawi doesn’t take long, since, instead of a single book, they can each take a form and fill them out at the same time, and the stamping process is quick and efficient. Harry stands at the back of the queue with the two Kiwis, Oliver and Elise, quizzing them about the mountains of New Zealand to distract himself from gazing at Louis with obvious heart eyes. 

Not in a government building.

Even though watching Louis deal with officialdom is a huge turn on. 

Then it’s back to the truck where he can’t see Louis. Liam and Niall have been scribbling lyrics together all morning, but Harry can’t concentrate on that right now so he leaves them to it and rests his head against the window to watch Malawi pass by. It’s a lot flatter here than Zambia was, most of the land used for agriculture. The houses in almost all of the villages they pass are made of brick with thatched roofing instead of the mud huts he’s grown accustomed to seeing, and the fields are vast, filled with a variety of crops Harry doesn’t recognise instead of the tiny self-sufficient plots of maize in Zimbabwe.

In Malawi, the animals on the roads are mostly goats and chickens. In Zambia, there were a few donkeys and many chickens. Zimbabwe had lots of donkeys and no chickens. Did Zimbabwe used to have chickens, he wonders, or have they all been eaten? 

There’s so much Harry doesn’t know. So much he’s never going to find out because all he can think now is: Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis.

After several hours, Zayn turns off the paved highway north onto a dirt road that winds through a range of hills that a quick consultation with Liam reveals to be the Nkhotakota Wildlife Reserve. It’s not the most engrossing scenery of the trip, not a single animal to be seen, and Harry struggles to sit still as the truck bounces and rattles over the red sand. 

Where’s the lake, where’s the lake, where’s the lake?

It doesn’t look like a lake when they burst out beside it and swing north again. Everyone crowds over to the eastern side of the truck to gape at what looks like a vast silver blue ocean. 

“The third-largest lake in Africa, mate,” Liam says with a shrug. “What did you expect?”

It’s part of the Rift Valley, Harry knew that much. Liam’s guidebook informs them it’s over three hundred miles long and fifty miles wide. Even knowing the numbers, it’s hard to apply the word _lake_ to what they’re seeing. 

“It says you can see across to Mozambique in the south and to Tanzania further north, but we’re at one of the widest points.” 

There’s no sign of land on the horizon that Harry can see. The water ripples gently. It’s warm, the guidebook says, and very clear. Friendly water. 

It’s early afternoon when Zayn slows down to take the turn off to Kande Beach. He drives carefully through the local village, easing Rafiki through playing children and overgrown banana trees until he pulls up at their campsite for the next two nights. 

They’ve made it. 

They’re here.

Lake Malawi.

*

First things first. Camp has to be set up. Niall wants to upgrade to one of the beachfront cabins. They’re very basic, whitewashed brick walls and thatched roofs, with windows and doors made of wood and mosquito screens, but they’re right on the beach, whereas the tents have to be erected behind all the buildings. 

Liam agrees for electricity reasons, and they both turn to look at Harry. “You joining us?”

It’s silly to want his own private tent, given that he won’t be able to sleep in it with Louis anyway. That’s not what they get to have. “Sure,” he says. Beds are always more comfortable than the ground, so he might as well.

Then there’s lunch. Harry’s on truck cleaning today so he can’t even help. Instead he takes out his frustrations on a sweep-out of the truck so vigorous that he ends up coughing from the dust that swirls up.

“Careful, lad.” Louis looks up from the tins of sweetcorn that he’s emptying into their salad. 

“I choked myself,” he gasps, clutching the little broom. 

Louis waits until he’s breathing properly again before he says, “Eager, aren’t we?” and that sends Harry off again.

He gives in to his need to sit with Louis while they eat. It’s made easier by the fact an afternoon storm has blown up and they all need to huddle under a couple of rough lean-tos beneath the mango trees for shelter. Harry manages to ensure he gets shoved up beside Louis when everyone rushes for cover, and they eat their salad gazing happily at each other in between Louis talking to his passengers and being Tour Leader Louis. Harry had no idea he has such a kink for it, but it feels like foreplay watching Louis impart knowledge on Africa, settle a dispute between Eric and Danny about the best way to organise a climb of Kilimanjaro, and head both Nora and Veronique away from trying to flirt with Zayn. 

They’re both very pretty and amazingly sure of themselves, considering they’re only teenagers. Harry’s noticed them over the last few days, the way Veronique wields her French sophistication against Danish Nora’s complete lack of self-consciousness. Louis makes a general stern warning against immodesty on Malawian beaches, which Harry knows is aimed at the two of them because it’s a given that they’re going to be in competition with each other now they can strip off. 

They’re going to have to target the locals, though. Danny and Duncan, in their thirties, seem to regard them with amusement, Oliver’s married, the two Korean guys have their girlfriends occupying their attention, Niall’s still focused on Alicia, and the rest of the guys are gay or otherwise engaged with each other, or, in the case of Renato, completely terrified of them. This would be a fun development to watch, except Harry only has room for one development in his mind: his relationship with Louis.

Louis promised him Lake Malawi. They’re here. He can hear the lake in the background splashing against the shore as the storm heads off towards the distant green mountains. 

As lunch winds up, Louis runs through the list of activities available during the next day and a half, all of which can be arranged through the campsite. The beach is free for sunbathing or volleyball. Also on offer are water sports such as snorkelling, windsurfing or canoeing and there’s a local dive school down the beach. Non water-related activities include horse riding, hiking, and visiting the local village. 

“There’s also the beach bar,” Louis finishes up to great cheers since most of their recent campsites have been dry, run by religious organisations, “but try not to enjoy yourselves there so much tonight that you can’t make the most of the beach and sunshine tomorrow. Since it’s Saturday night, the restaurant here holds a general barbecue, all you can eat, so that’ll be dinner. Cooking group, you’re off duty tonight. Enjoy the lake, people!”

“I want to swim out to the island,” Liam says as people start clearing up from lunch.

“Me too,” Niall agrees, which surprises Harry.

Carlie, leading today’s dishwashing team, swipes his empty plate away. “Wait for me. I want to do it too. We should go out as a group, because it looks like a pretty long swim.”

“Louis?” Liam grabs Louis’ arm as he passes on his way towards the kitchen hatches in the truck. “How far out is Kande Island?”

“About eight hundred metres. Are you guys thinking of swimming out there?”

“Yeah.” Liam keeps hold of Louis’ arm, and, really, that’s quite unnecessary. He’s already got Louis’ attention. “Are the water conditions safe to swim out around it?”

Louis examines the sky. “The storm’s moved on and the wind’s died down, so it’ll be totally calm soon. You’ll be fine. I reckon this afternoon’s probably the best time for going out there so you have tomorrow entirely free for other activities.”

Yes, because that island belongs to Harry and Louis tomorrow.

Harry idly wanders over in their direction, and if he bumps into Liam as he passes, it’s not his fault. “Can I make you some tea, Lou?” he asks, not reaching to touch the way he wants to, but forcing himself to be satisfied when Louis’ eyes swing to him. 

“You’re not swimming to the island?”

Harry has a much better idea, now that Niall and Liam are going to be out of the way for the afternoon. “I bought some internet,” after there was none all through Zimbabwe and Zambia, “so I can show you those pictures we were talking about. We upgraded to a room so we can use my computer. It’s charging right now.” 

Louis gets it. His eyes turn dark as the storm they just watched over the lake, then begin to twinkle. “Right, yeah. Good idea. Soon as I’m ready.”

“You’re not swimming to the island with us?” Niall asks. “There’s a whole group of us planning to go now.” 

“Let your lunch settle first,” Louis advises. He hands Harry the small electric kettle, because for once there’s somewhere to plug it in. “Thanks, Haz.” 

Their hands brush when Harry takes it and Harry feels fifteen again. He literally can’t talk because of all the things he can’t say that are so desperate to come out of his mouth, so he fumbles a smile, which Louis seems able to accurately read because he reaches out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. 

Yes. Louis should always be touching him.

Fourteen days left, and Louis should spend every minute of each one of those days touching Harry.

Louis continues his conversation with the others about the island, recommends they stay a while to explore it, offers advice on the best route through its rocky surroundings to climb up onto it and describes how to find the cliffs that are safe to dive off, and Harry concentrates on the gentle, soothing rasp of his voice. He wants to wrap himself up in it and never come out. 

He’s going to kiss Louis again. In just a few minutes.

For the first time, he understands the phrase _breathless with anticipation._ He _can’t_ breathe, he’s too excited, too eager, too needy.

Will Louis mind how needy he is?

How far is Louis willing to go? This will be his first time with a man. What if he panics? What if he suddenly realises he’s not into men after all? He’s only ever been with women. What if Harry’s body scares him?

“Hey,” Louis says into his ear, sliding up behind him. “You’re gonna burn yourself, Haz.”

Sure enough, the hot water’s about to overflow the mug all over Harry’s hand that’s holding it. He jerks the kettle upright. “Oh. Thanks.”

“I have other plans for your hands,” Louis murmurs. “I don’t want them injured.”

Louis wants Harry’s hands on him. Harry’s face goes up in flames, again like he’s fifteen and never been touched. Has he ever wanted anyone the way he wants Louis? 

“Breathe,” Louis whispers.

If he breathes, he’ll moan aloud. 

Louis seems to sense Harry’s predicament. “Okay, guys,” he shouts, swivelling away so he’s no longer pressed up behind Harry, “let’s get these camp chairs put away. Eric, can you and Renato help me fold up the tables? Alicia, will you and Niall take these bowls and spread them out on that rock to dry so the washing group can fill the dish racks? Veronique, the rubbish bins are over by the gate there, if you and Nora wouldn’t mind helping out and emptying these for me. Excellent, all of you, the more people who help out, the quicker we’ll all be free to enjoy our afternoon at the lake.”

The general hubbub of people wanting to be helpful—or to be seen as being helpful, in some cases—gives Harry the cover he needs to get control of himself again. Honestly, he’s a full-grown man. He’s had sex before, plenty of it. He’s tried pretty much everything. He’s topped, he’s bottomed, he’s explored various kinks, both his own and those of others. None of this is new. 

Except Louis.

Louis is new.

Harry’s never done anything with Louis but kiss him during a thunderstorm surrounded by ancient ruins and chittering monkeys. 

By the time people start departing to change for the swim out to the island, Harry has control of himself again. He made tea for himself as well, downed two cups of Louis’ spiced apple chai in the time it took Louis to drink his cup of Yorkshire, and now he needs to go and find the facilities before he can do anything with Louis. 

“We’re in the second cabin from the end,” he tells Louis before he heads towards the buildings their introduction to the site informed them held the bathrooms. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

Louis is talking to Zayn, who looks bored and more remote than usual. He nods. “Gimme a few, and I’ll be there.”

“See you, Zayn,” Harry says, making an effort to be friendly.

“Yeah,” Zayn says expressionlessly.

That went well. But Louis winks at him and Harry finds himself grinning happily as he heads off to discover what facilities this site has to offer.

*

“I don’t see why you won’t come to the island with us,” Niall says when Harry reaches their one-room cabin on the beach. “You like swimming.”

Harry flops down on his bed, willing them to get a move on. “I’m going tomorrow with Lou. We already planned it.”

“Aren’t you coming horse riding with us then?”

Harry isn’t interested in riding any horses. “Nope.”

“But, Harry, you’re the best rider—”

“Why don’t you invite Alicia?” He rolls over to evaluate Niall’s reaction to her name. 

Niall glances away and pretends that he’s having trouble pulling his towel out of his bag. “I don’t want to monopolise all her attention. She always has men hitting on her, so I’m trying not to.”

Harry didn’t think Alicia was that attractive. She’s too sure of herself, a little bit hard—not in a bad way, but in a way that Harry would find abrasive. Maybe straight men react differently to that. “How do you know?”

“She told him,” Liam puts in as he shimmies out of his denim shorts and reaches for his swimming trunks, which are long and loose and it’s really a shame, since Liam has a good body and he has someone to show it off to here. 

“Right.” Harry has to take a moment to remember what they were talking about. Alicia. “Is Zayn going to the island with you?”

“Doubt it.” Now Liam’s the one not meeting his eyes. “I imagine he’s got a painting waiting for him here.”

“You imagine?”

“He does everywhere else.” Liam pulls on a t-shirt. “Look, Harry, it was just a fling, okay? Nothing serious. He hasn’t suddenly become my boyfriend. We’re not like you and Louis.”

“Louis isn’t my boyfriend.”

“You want him to be,” Niall says.

“It’s also a fling. Just, maybe, a longer fling.”

“Is that right?” 

It has to be. Harry nods, curling up on the bed where, hopefully, he’ll soon be in Louis’ arms. “Two more weeks,” he says, trying for casual bravado. 

Liam catches the sunblock cream Niall tosses to him and squeezes out a palmful as he follows Niall out the door. “We’ll be gone for a minimum of an hour,” he calls through the net windows. “Maybe two, but definitely one.”

Liam knows, and Harry should possibly feel uncomfortable that his best friends know he’s skipping the island swim to make out with Louis in their shared bedroom, but Liam vanishes with a wink and a laugh, Niall’s laughing too in the distance, and Harry loves them fiercely. He needs to look into the Zayn situation, and also investigate Alicia a bit more, and he will when he’s not nearly out of his mind with need for Louis.

*

Unable to keep still, Harry wanders onto the little wooden balcony that juts out over the beach. Almost everyone in camp is heading for the island, it seems, with Liam organising stronger swimmers to partner those who are less confident. Having ignored Louis’ warning, the girls are in tiny, bright bikinis other than Alicia, whose scarlet one-piece held together with ribbons shows off more of her body than those in bikinis. Niall’s face is bright red as he struggles to look anywhere but below her neck, and Harry’s proud of him for trying. Eric, the Swiss guy, if Harry remembers right, has an exceptional body and he’s not shy about it either. Harry catches Liam glancing at it as everyone dumps their towels and other belongings on the sand and heads down towards the clear blue water, but then Liam’s gaze catches on someone further up the beach.

Zayn isn’t painting.

He’s sauntering across the golden sand in tight red shorts towards the group at the water’s edge. He looks grim, but determined. 

Liam clearly can’t take his eyes off him.

The lying liar. 

Striding straight over the mess of towels, Zayn marches through the middle of the group and sets off swimming towards the island with strong, sure strokes. 

“I’ve never seen him swim here before.”

Harry leaps at Louis’ voice. “Hi!”

“Hi yourself, Curly.” The humidity has tightened Harry’s curls and Louis steps up onto the balcony and tugs one. 

“Eeeeeep,” Harry says.

Louis grins delightedly. “You remembered.”

“You said you wanted to pull each one.”

“I did.” Louis’ grin fades, along with Harry’s awareness of the laughter and shouting of the swimmers leaping into the water after Zayn. “Said a few other things too.”

“You did.”

“If you’ve changed your mind—”

“I haven’t.”

Louis gestures towards the lake. “Looks like we have some privacy for a bit.”

“That’s why—” Harry has to stop to clear his throat, which has become dangerously clogged with all the need bubbling up inside him. “’s why I asked you here.”

“You mean you didn’t buy any internet?”

“Don’t even know if the cabin has electricity. I mean, it must do. Liam wanted it. So I guess it does.” Why can’t he stop babbling? 

Louis’ hand curves gently around his cheek. “I didn’t come to see pictures, Harry.”

And that’s—okay. They’re on the same page. The panic beginning to prickle at his skin subsides and Harry rubs his cheek against Louis’ hand. “Good,” he manages.

Louis darts a glance at the beach. It’s not only his passengers they need to hide this from, Harry remembers belatedly, but all the locals who amble past along the sand on their way to the village further down the coast. Nobody, absolutely nobody, can see them.

“Come inside,” he says, pulling away.

It’s dim inside the room. Louis kicks off his flipflops as he pulls the door closed behind them, then releases the wooden blinds at each window in turn. Harry leans against the tiny table, breathing deeply so he doesn’t get dizzy. Privacy. Louis is making them safe.

The darkness feels cosy compared to the blazing post-storm sunlight outside. Enough light filters through the loosely woven bamboo that Harry doesn’t need to turn on the bare bulb overhead. He can see Louis’ face clearly as he turns around to face Harry.

It’s only a second and they’re in each other’s arms. Harry doesn’t even know who moved first, he just knows he’s kissing Louis, nipping at his lips until he parts them, then tasting deep inside his mouth. 

“Haz—baby—wait,” Louis gasps.

“No more waiting.” But he lifts his head, because consent is important. “Did you change _your_ mind?”

“No.” Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, keeping him close. “Just want to savour this. We don’t have much time but I don’t want to rush. Last time, in the ruins, it was too quick. I want so much more this time.”

“Anything.” Harry doesn’t have to think about promising. “Anything you want. Whatever you tell me, I’ll do, I’ll give you. Just tell me.”

“I want to look at you,” Louis says simply. “I’ve had to be so careful the last two days. Couldn’t look at you, not really. Not the way I wanted to.”

Harry lets Louis push him backwards towards the bed, the small one, the one with his pillow. Of course Louis understands that they can’t do anything on Liam and Niall’s double bed, even though it would be more comfortable. He sits when Louis presses on his shoulders, and Louis drops to one knee on the grass mat in front of him. 

“Lean back with your hands behind you holding you up,” he directs, and Harry obeys. 

He feels open and exposed like this, his legs parting to make space for Louis to lean forward and trace his finger down the centre of Harry’s chest. The position pulls his thin t-shirt so tight that the pale blue is almost transparent, showing hints of his tattoos. 

He hopes Louis likes tattoos.

“I love your chest,” Louis says softly, spreading his fingers out over Harry’s butterfly while his other hand anchors him high on Harry’s thigh. His thumb brushes Harry’s closest nipple, making him shiver. “You like that?”

“Yes,” Harry manages.

“I want to bite you there.”

 _Oh yes._ “Please do.”

Harry thought Louis meant later, after their shirts come off, but Louis leans forward to close his sharp little teeth hard over the nipple. Harry jerks upwards, thrusting closer. 

Louis laughs, low in his throat. “You do like that.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

“How about this?”

Louis moves across to its corresponding nipple on the other side and bites down again, even harder, and Harry digs his teeth into his lower lip to swallow a scream. “How?” he demands when Louis releases him and looks up with sparkling eyes. “How’d you know?”

“That it turns you on?”

“Yeah.”

Louis shrugs. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks. I wanted to do it even when I couldn’t let myself think about you that way. When I never imagined I’d get you here, spread out in front of me like this, mine to play with.”

How in all that’s holy is Harry meant to survive when this is how Louis starts out? “I am,” he says roughly. “Yours.”

Louis’ breath catches audibly. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” Harry says, louder this time. “I’m yours, Lou, for anything you want.”

Harry thought maybe he’d have to introduce Louis to what it’s like being with a man, that Louis might be hesitant at first, unsure of himself. He thought wrong. Louis knows exactly what he wants. He wants to explore Harry’s body, wants to investigate every part of it. He makes Harry keep his clothes on while Louis feels him up through his shirt, finds his smaller nipples and pinches at them too, outlines each of Harry’s ribs with his tongue. Every time Harry moans, Louis leans up to kiss him, the kisses turning deeper, sloppier, every time. Harry’s hard almost immediately, and so is Louis, and it takes all of Harry’s self-control not to come with Louis pushed up against him, rubbing their cocks together through their shorts.

But each time, just as he’s about to lose it, Louis pulls back, wrenches their mouths apart, and returns to his explorations.

“Naked,” Harry tells him. “Wanna be naked for you.”

The room is dark, but Louis’ eyes glow like fire. “Wait,” he says.

“No. Please. Please, Lou.” If they had all afternoon ahead of them, plus all night, if they were here just the two of them and didn’t have to resurface until Monday morning in time to leave with the others, then fine, Louis could have all the time he wanted to tease and torment, but they have less than half left of Liam’s promised hour and Harry’s going out of his mind. 

“I know.” Louis soothes him with little strokes across his straining upper arms and a lick along his jaw. “I know, baby, it’s hard to wait.”

“Can’t wait. Don’t make me. _Been_ waiting.”

“You’ve been so good for me.”

“Please, Lou.” Louis’ mouth moving all over his face is driving him demented. Harry wants to surge upward and just _take_ , but he promised Louis free rein. “Please let me at least touch you.”

“I won’t last.”

“S’okay. Me neither. It’s fine. Want you.”

Louis laughs, but he sounds strung out and wild. “Haz… you make me crazy. Want so much from you.”

“Everything,” Harry promises. “Just—please—touch me!”

At last at last at last Louis’ fingers move down between Harry’s legs. He flinches at the first touch, grits his teeth not to come instantly, then pushes up into Louis’ hand. His shorts are soft and loose, easy for Louis to pull down to free him.

“Fuck me, Haz.”

Harry knows Louis doesn’t mean it as an instruction, it’s just an exclamation at his first sight of Harry’s hard dick, but the words rocket through him, ripping a desperate sob from his chest. “Lou, please, Lou, please, please, Louis, please.”

He’s on his back, Louis’ mouth on his. Somehow Louis’ shorts have come down as well and their bare cocks are rubbing together, Louis’ strong, sure hand working them as he straddles Harry’s spread thighs. Harry’s leaking so much there’s no need for lube, and he wants to see, wants to see Louis bare, wants to touch him, but he’s losing control of his limbs, of his consciousness, and it’s just Louis inside his mouth and all around him and he’s soaring and anguished and frantic and exploding.

He literally explodes. 

Into fragments.

*

It’s later. Time’s passed, he’s vaguely aware of that. No idea how much. 

Feels somehow like it matters. Should be urgent.

Louis.

Hot against him.

In a steamy room.

Dark room.

Louis.

Touching him.

Kissing him.

Holy hell, making him come.

Did Louis come?

“Lou?”

“Babe?”

Harry likes that. It makes him warm inside and he wriggles closer on the narrow bed. “You?” he says inarticulately. His hand pats randomly in the vicinity of where Louis’ groin must be. Oh. Yes. Louis came too.

“Yes,” Louis says, understanding. “Me too, right after you.”

“Wanted to make you.”

“You did.” Louis’ face is buried in Harry’s neck, making his voice rumble through Harry’s body. “Watching you come, hearing the sounds you made. So lovely, Haz, I couldn’t help it.”

“So much,” Harry sighs. “Want so much with you.”

“Everything.” Louis whispers it like a secret, right into Harry’s ear. “Everything I can.”

*

Next time Harry surfaces, he’s alone. Golden pink light streams in through the open windows along with random shouts and laughter. His shorts are pulled up, his towel draped over him. 

He staggers over to the windows to see a volleyball match happening down on the beach below. The two sides seem to be led by Louis and Liam, Niall on Louis’ team, Zayn on Liam’s. Harry had no idea Zayn was so athletic. Nor that he could laugh as much as he does when both he and Liam go for the ball and smack right into each other, landing in a tangled heap. Elise, the nurse, trips over them and Zayn manages to impressively grab and right her while almost hysterical with laughter. 

“Thanks,” calls Oliver, her husband, from over on Louis’ side. 

Zayn gives him a thumbs up. “Any time, mate.”

“What about me?” Liam asks, still flat on his back. 

Flipping easily to his feet, Zayn reaches down to Liam’s extended hand, grips his forearm and the next moment Liam’s standing beside him. 

“Thanks,” Niall calls, echoing Oliver, and this time Zayn gives him the finger. 

Louis’ bright laugh rises above the rest. “C’mon, people, the light’s wasting!”

Sure enough, it’s almost sunset. Did Harry really sleep that long?

How much of it was Louis with him for?

How could Harry _sleep_ through alone time with Louis?

His distress at the time wasted propels him out through the door just as Zayn spikes a ball over the net and Louis looks up at Harry, only to be smacked right in the face by it.

Harry vaults over the wooden railing onto the sand six feet below and scrambles to Louis’ side. “Lou!”

“I’m fine, love.” Louis wasn’t knocked unconscious like Harry feared. He smiles, opening his eyes beneath Harry’s frantic fingers as they search for blood or any other sign of injury. “It hit the side of my head and I’ve a bloody hard head.”

Louis guides Harry’s fingers to his temple, where it’s already starting to swell a little. Harry doesn’t want to touch and make it worse. He wants to press his lips softly against the angry red and make any residual pain go away. 

“Lou,” he says again, helplessly.

“You all right?”

 _I missed you_ , Harry wants to say, but with Louis’ teammates and even the opposition clustering around, he doesn’t dare. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah.” Louis’ smile this time is luminous. “I wore you out,” he murmurs so only Harry can hear. “I’m quite proud.”

It’s not fair that Harry can’t duck his head the last few inches and kiss him, just quickly, the way Rolf and Annette do, or Oliver and Elise. Nothing sexual or blatant, just a little _hello_ and _I care about you_ and _I’m yours._

Harry feels himself get hot as he remembers his fervent promises to Louis in the heat of the moment. What if he went over the top and gave more than Louis wanted? Is that why Louis left? 

The others are talking to Louis and he’s moving Harry gently aside and sitting up and life continues. Harry stays on the sand, scooting just far enough forward that he’s off the pitch, or whatever you call it in beach volleyball. He pulls his knees up in front of him and stares fiercely at the silvery lapping water as the day dies around him, feeling out of his depth. 

He’s not sure he knows how to do this. He doesn’t know what they’re doing. What is this for Louis? A rebound? A way to rebuild his confidence after Michelle shattered it? A fun experiment to pass the time and make him feel better about himself? A summer romance with a convenient short expiry date? Or....

.... more?

Louis is making plans to go to South America, though. It _can’t_ be more. Harry has to remember that. 

*

hmm

It’s hard to remember when they’re beside each other on an outdoor sofa beneath the stars, party music playing in the distance, slightly tipsy. It feels like Manchester—well, a tropical, mosquito-ridden version of Manchester—and Harry feels nineteen again and free and in love. 

But he’s twenty-three, in a country where he’s illegal, and falling in love will only break his heart.

“I love this place,” Louis says dreamily beside him. “I’ll miss it a lot when I’m gone.”

Yes, remember? Louis is leaving. 

“Why do you love it?” Harry asks.

“It’s, like, the sea, only in the middle of a continent.”

“And?”

“And? Why does there need to be an _and_ , Harriet?”

Okay, fine, whatever. Harry’s always going to remember it as the first place he and Louis got together. The memory might end up hurting more than feeling comfortably nostalgic. “D’you still want to go to the island tomorrow?” he asks instead, gazing up at the tiny clouds scudding across the stars, wishing the lights would go out so they could see the stars properly. 

“Yes.” Louis’ voice reflects the sudden tension that grips his splayed-out body. “Why, do you no longer want to?”

“No—” Harry starts, but realises he used the wrong word when Louis sits up. “No!” He grabs Louis’ forearm. “Don’t go. I wasn’t finished. I was going to say _no, I do_. I do want to, Lou.”

“You do?” Louis doesn’t look at him, stares instead at the fire flickering off to the right. 

“I definitely do.”

A little of the tension drains out of Louis’ body. “So you’re—um, all right? With what happened this afternoon?”

Harry knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. “I meant everything I said. I still do.”

He knows Louis gets it from the careful way Louis nods. “So did I.”

It’s not fair that they can’t spend their first night together actually together. “Can we sit here for a while longer?”

People are already drifting off to bed. It’s late, long after midnight, and they’ve grown accustomed to going to bed not long after the sun in their campsites without electricity, but Louis nods again and settles back against Harry. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, let’s.”

On the other side of the fire, Harry notices Liam and Zayn talking intently together. After a few days of avoiding each other, it seems like the swim to the island got things going with them again. Good. 

He wonders if anyone would notice at the rest of the campsites if Liam moved into Zayn’s tent and Louis moved into Harry’s. It would help. It would help a lot if he could spend their final fourteen nights in Louis’ arms. 

Niall’s playing a drinking game with Alicia, Carlie, Duncan and Danny. The four Koreans look like they’re engrossed in a similar Korean version with just as much laughter and shrieking. Annette’s lying back in Rolf’s arms on the sofa opposite while he plays with her hair the way Harry wishes Louis could play with his. He loves people playing with his hair and Louis seems to enjoy his wayward curls. But even their arms pressed tightly together on this sofa is pushing it. Harry doesn’t dare slide his arm around Louis’ shoulders the way he wants to. Louis might be cold, he’s only in a thin t-shirt and the same shorts as earlier. Harry should be allowed to warm him if he wants to, but this is far too public. 

As if sensing Harry’s growing distress, Louis shifts so his knee bumps into Harry’s. Harry turns his head on the cushions to see Louis staring at his mouth. 

Hey, wait. Liam and Niall are both busy out here. What are he and Louis doing?

“Walk me home,” he invites, trying to sound casual, but his voice breaks in the middle of the last word. 

Louis glances around, takes in what Harry just noticed. “Sure.” To Harry’s satisfaction, his voice isn’t much more steady. “Goodnight, you lot,” he calls as they get to their feet. “Remember breakfast’s at eight. If you miss it, don’t come crying to me.”

Niall turns away from his game. “You going to bed, H?”

“Lou’s walking me back to the room.” Harry stares at him hard, willing him to understand and not insist on jumping up and joining them. 

“Niall and I’ll be along in half an hour or so,” Liam says, clueing Niall in. “See you then.”

“See you then,” Niall echoes, laughing uproariously as he gets it. He winks over the fire and waves, and Harry waves back, relieved. 

“Night, Harry,” Zayn says when they pass him and Liam. He lifts a hand for a high five, and, astonished, Harry reciprocates.

“Goodnight, Zayn.”

Zayn’s wink is nothing like Niall’s. It feels like a message, one of shared love and care for Louis. Zayn trusts Harry with him. Trusts Harry not to hurt him. 

Harry won’t. He’s definitely going to be hurt by the end of this himself, but he’ll do his best to make sure Louis isn’t. 

The path along the beach to the cabins is too brightly lit to do much but walk alongside each other, arms knocking as they move, but it’s dark on the cabin balconies. Harry feels his way up the steps from the beach and unlocks the door, letting Louis in and putting down the blinds before turning on the light. 

Instantly, Louis is in his arms. Just like earlier. 

They don’t have time for the bed, and he needs to respect the fact that Liam and Niall share this room, so he lets Louis push him up against the whitewashed bricks instead. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Louis mutters against his skin, pressing fierce little kisses all the way down his neck. “In the firelight, your curls, they shine.” He digs one of his hands into Harry’s hair, fisting it tightly, catching the needy noise Harry makes in his mouth. “Hated not touching you.”

“Touch me now.” But Harry doesn’t wait passively, instead he slides his hands down Louis’ back to curl around one of the parts of Louis he’s most wanted to touch. It’s just as firm and full as he expected. What he didn’t expect is the little yelp that bursts from Louis. 

“Harder,” Louis instructs against his lips. “Squeeze harder.”

Louis loves it, wriggling against him as Harry tightens his grip, going up on his toes so they’re hard against each other. “So fucking good, darlin’.”

Harry liked _love_ and _baby_ , but he loves _darling._ He deepens the kiss, as though he can capture the taste of the word inside Louis’ mouth. They can’t do this, not with Liam and Niall returning shortly. It’s not respectful of shared space. It was just meant to be a kiss goodnight, not humping each other against the wall while he squeezes Louis’ glorious bum. 

“If we’re quick,” Louis gasps, wrenching his mouth away. “I’m close, Haz. Been on the edge all night.”

And Harry is done for. 

It only takes another couple of minutes. 

And then he goes to bed smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	31. Chapter 31

**Day 31 – Louis**

**Kande Beach, Lake Malawi**

Louis is the one who misses breakfast. 

Zayn pitched their tent in a far distant corner of the camping ground and Louis sleeps through his alarm and the sound of the others getting up and starting their day, only waking when the sun starts burning through the trees. 

His phone tells him it’s almost nine o’clock.

_Shit._

He clambers out of his sleeping bag and jerks open the zip for the doorway, realising only just in time that he can’t go out in these shorts. He may have detoured back via the bathrooms last night to clean himself off, but the shorts are a write-off. Fuck, where are his clothes? Why didn’t Zayn make sure he was up? Is he that distracted by reconnecting with Liam? 

What about Harry?

Harry.

Harry, who Louis spent the night dreaming about.

Harry, who he wanted to treat gently and with respect, and instead ravaged him twice the moment they got solid walls around them. 

Harry, who he can’t wait to ravage again.

Finally a pair of jeans, too hot for the lake but they’ll do for right now, plus last night’s t-shirt—no, oops, it’s ripped. Wait, Harry _ripped his t-shirt?_ When did that happen?

He grabs a shirt of Zayn’s rather than digging further into his messy bags and rushes out across the grass towards the clump of mango trees around the truck. 

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Zayn.” Louis skids to a stop as Zayn emerges from the trees. “You shit! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I tried. You wouldn’t. So I went to get you tea.” Sure enough, he’s holding Louis’ favourite mug. “Thought that might tempt you out of your happy dreams of your curly boy.”

“He’s not mine,” Louis says automatically as he reaches for the mug. Except Harry is. He said so. Vowed so. “Where is he?”

“Serving breakfast.” Zayn’s smirk is so amused Louis could smack him. “He wanted me to let you sleep, but he made your tea anyway when I said I was waking you now with or without it.”

Of course he is. Louis is beginning to wonder how he ever did this job without Harry picking up his slack. He didn’t realise how on edge he always was with the awareness of his responsibility. Everything but the truck always rests on him on every trip, and while he’s always risen to the occasion, it’s scarily nice to have someone to help carry the burden. 

Knowing everything’s under control, he leans back against the nearby wooden pole that holds up a dangling drum for rubbish, and sips his perfect tea. Ahh, that’s good. Even better knowing Harry made it. “So I see you and Liam are talking again,” he observes. “Anything you want to share?”

“You were right.” Zayn crosses his arms over his chest as he references their conversation after lunch yesterday. “I shouldn’t let it get weird just because we fucked and he didn’t want to do it again.”

Whoa, Zayn hadn’t been quite so forthcoming yesterday. “So, what, you’re just friends now?”

Zayn’s smile is unexpectedly brilliant. “Just friends. For now.”

“Anything I can do, mate, just say the word.”

“Lend me jeans that aren’t too tight so I can ride a horse?”

Fucking hell, Zayn must be serious about Liam. First he joins in a group swim, then inflicts volleyball on himself, and now horse riding? “You can wear these. I just need swimming trunks for today.”

“Don’t forget to hand your laundry in. I don’t want you complaining all across Tanzania about having no clean clothes to wear.”

Louis forgot. Their roughly once-a-week laundry stops are treasured like gold, and he definitely doesn’t want to be reduced to having to handwash his shit and spread it around the cab to dry while they drive. It has to be handed in to the camp laundry ladies by ten, so he still has enough time to swing by the truck to see if there’s any remnants of breakfast. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll just check on Harry, then I’ll bring you the jeans.”

He needn’t have worried about breakfast. The moment he appears beneath the trees, Harry beetles over towards him. “I kept you two pancakes, a boiled egg, and two toasts with jam,” he says, stopping just before he reaches Louis. 

Painfully aware of all his passengers’ attention as they call out good mornings, Louis can’t stop himself from leaning forward so he can straighten the bottom of Harry’s Rolling Stones t-shirt where it’s got accidentally tucked into his shorts, before waving to the others. “Thank you. And thanks for the tea.” He holds it up with his other hand, hovers it between them as though it can form a barrier to keep him from surging forward for a morning kiss. “And for taking care of breakfast.”

“I remembered what you planned when we shopped in Harare.” Harry looks wonderfully pleased with himself, and Louis’ desperately relieved there’s no awkwardness after yesterday. “And I’m on packing today, but we’re not going anywhere so no need to pack, so I thought you wouldn’t mind if I helped Niall and the others with breakfast instead.”

It’s for their avid audience, Louis knows, because surely Harry’s aware that he has full run of Louis’ kitchen by now. “Thanks,” he says again. “Very helpful of you.”

Harry showered and washed his hair this morning. Louis can smell his citrus shampoo over the watery coconut of his sunblock. After spending weeks trying to figure out if it was lemon or orange, he realises it’s grapefruit. Harry washes his hair with grapefruit-scented shampoo. 

Louis wants to wash it for him—

Nope. Don’t think about showers and naked Harry and privacy to do things to him. 

“Do you need to go back to bed?” Harry asks.

“No.” Giving himself a shake, Louis realises he hasn’t showered, and he probably stinks. “I’ll come back for my breakfast, just wanted to say good morning before going to shower.” He raises his voice. “And don’t forget, everyone, laundry in at the office by ten if you want it done by morning.”

“I already collected it all.” Harry grins happily. “Except yours. So go get it and drop it here on your way to shower. I’ll be here when you’re ready to eat. Want more tea?”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Always for you, Lou.”

How does Harry just say things like that? Memories of what else Harry said yesterday play through Louis’ mind as he heads back to the tents. How is Harry brave enough to be so open, to give himself so entirely? 

Louis still doesn’t know how to think about yesterday. He never meant to be so wild, so demanding. So forceful. 

So needy.

But they have so little time and even less opportunity and he just wants every single bit of Harry he can get. He wants to touch him all over, taste every inch of his skin. Wants to see what makes Harry shiver, what entices him, what makes him lose it. He wants Harry’s cock every way he can get it. Wants to play with it with both his hands and mouth. Fuck, but he wants it in his mouth. He’s never given a blowjob. He wants to lay Harry down and suck him off for hours, just to see how long he can draw it out, how much he can push Harry to take. 

Harry is so good. So compliant. So frantic. 

It’s a relief that the showers are cold this morning because otherwise Louis wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Instead, he stands beneath the cool trickle of water and tries to calm down. They won’t have the security of a room today. With everyone doing different activities, they can’t chance it, even when Niall and Liam are out. The island is their best option. Thankfully everyone got their curiosity satisfied last night, so hopefully Louis and Harry can have it to themselves today. The locals don’t venture out there, and the next group to pass through here isn’t expected until tomorrow. 

By the time he shows up for his breakfast, most people have disappeared. 

“The village tour started at ten,” Harry explains, peeling Louis’ boiled egg, “and most of the girls wanted to get an early start on sunbathing. The afternoon’s pretty evenly split between horse riding and a boat trip down the coast diving and snorkelling.”

Louis munches through his toast. “I thought Zayn said he was riding this morning.”

“Yeah, he and Liam went with Niall and Alicia.”

Alicia, that’s the woman Harry thought was coming onto Louis. Because he’s not sure how much Liam’s told Harry about him and Zayn, he picks the safer topic. “They’re getting close, Niall and Alicia.”

“Yes.” Egg peeled, Harry moves on to steeping more tea for Louis. “Niall often has flings when we travel, but I think he actually likes her.”

“ _Likes her_ likes her?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to tell with Niall. He seems like an open book but then you realise you can’t read a single word on any of the pages.”

Unlike Zayn, Louis realises, who seems like a closed book, but if you go to the trouble of opening him, he shows so much. Why has Louis taken him at face value for so long? Why did he never push? “It’s not unusual for people to hook up on these trips. There’s something about the forced intimacy and lack of the usual social boundaries. Everyone sees each other at their worst, at their most basic. No one dresses up, no one’s job matters. It’s like we’re outside of society, so people’s barriers and defences aren’t what they usually are at home.”

“I’d want you,” Harry says, “at home.”

Home. England. Not something Louis wants to think about. “What, when you’re a fancy lawyer and all dressed up in an elegant suit, Mr Important earning thousands of pounds an hour?”

“Yes.”

He wouldn’t look twice at a vagabond like Louis. 

“I’d still be the same person underneath all that. I’d still be me.”

Maybe at the beginning, but life has a way of changing people. A couple of years from now, Harry will no doubt be embarrassed by the memory of his flagrancy deep in the heart of Africa with a runaway deadbeat. 

“I made sandwiches for us to take for lunch.” Shifting away from his seat on the table beside Louis, Harry moves back towards the kitchen hatches. “Is it okay if we take some fruit with us as well?”

“Sure.” Louis goes with Harry’s change of subject as he finishes off the toast. “We need plenty of water too, so we don’t dehydrate. And sun cream, of course.”

“Of course.” 

Fuck, how he loves that little crooked smile of Harry’s.

“I’m not sure what to pack it all in, though, to get it there. Do we just need to, like, hold it above our heads while we swim?”

“We can borrow one of the waterproof bags from the diving school. Keith knows me, he won’t mind. I’ll get one big enough for everything, including some towels. Don’t forget your cap and sunblock.”

“Will it be safe enough for my camera?”

“Should be. You have a waterproof case for it, though, don’t you? Are you able to take pictures underwater?”

“I can.”

“The water here is clear enough.”

That gives Louis an idea, and he picks up some snorkel gear from Keith as well as the bag. Even if they don’t end up using it, at least it gives credence to them being out on the island for a full day, should anyone pay attention. Harry smiles brightly at Keith as he and Louis do a quick catch up, and Louis tries not to show any of his impatience to get Harry alone. He says all the right things, relieved that it seems like Keith hasn’t heard about Michelle, and then finally they’re heading down to the water. 

“Where are you guys off to?”

Oh no, it’s Veronique sauntering up to them in her little bikini, tossing her long, sun-streaked curls. “I’m taking Harry out for some snorkelling,” he tells her. “I see you’re enjoying the sun. Make the most of it, because there’s likely to be the usual storm later this afternoon.”

“I’m going riding then. I ride well,” she adds, nibbling on the end of her curls. 

“Good for you,” Harry says, not sounding at all impressed. “Enjoy the horses. Hopefully there’ll be one big enough for you. C’mon, Louis. I want to see the fish.” He smirks at Veronique. “I hear there are some really huge ones in this lake.”

She recoils. “I’ll stick to the beach, I think.”

“Good choice. Have fun. See you later.”

Louis tries not to make judgements about his passengers, and he also tries not to have favourites, but he can’t help missing Hayley right now, and Rachel and Nicole. Or maybe it’s just that now he’s had a taste of Harry, he’s territorial and can’t tolerate an approach from anyone else. He grins at Harry’s rudeness as Harry stomps off into the water. “I’d better go after him,” he says, semi-apologetically. “Make sure he doesn’t drown.”

She now looks like she wants nothing to do with the pair of them. “Have a good day,” she says, somewhat doubtfully. “Enjoy the fish.”

“Enjoy the horses.” Solitude ensured, he can grin at her now. “See you this evening.”

He catches up with Harry easily in the water. It’s warm, twinkling golden from the sun’s rays bouncing off the pale sand, and he can never get over how different it feels from the sea. He loves the sea, but it always feels like a battle for dominance. Here, the lake feels like a welcoming embrace. “Want some goggles to see?” he offers Harry once they’re out too deep to stand.

“Yes, please.”

Louis pulls some on as well and they lazily make their way out towards the island, Harry snapping occasional pictures as they go. No urgency, so far as anyone on land can see. Just a casual outing in Lake Malawi for two random guys. 

“It’s bigger than I thought.” Harry pushes up his goggles as he treads water, surveying the island. “Where do we go ashore?”

“Around the other side. There’s only one real entrance, unless you want to take your chances on jagged rocks. This way.”

Harry pulls himself easily out of the water where Louis indicates. He isn’t even breathing hard from the swim. “Is the lake always so warm?”

“Pretty much.” Louis hauls their bag up behind him, a lot heavier out of the water than when he could just float it along. He spreads out on the rocks beside Harry in the sun to catch his breath. “Maybe not out where it’s deeper.”

“How deep does it get?”

“Don’t remember exactly, but pretty deep because it’s part of the Rift Valley.” It feels like his brain is already giving up its precious store of African knowledge now that he’s planning to leave. “I do remember one thing, though. Do you know why it’s also called the Calendar Lake?”

Raising up on one elbow, Harry looks around as though the answer might be visible. “It takes seven days to swim the length of it?”

“Not quite. Because it’s roughly three hundred and sixty-five miles long and—”

“—fifty-two miles across!” Harry finishes, laughing. “I remember Liam saying it was about fifty miles wide. That’s cool.” He sits up completely and takes in their surroundings. “All of this is. I never expected this when Niall suggested travelling across Africa. To be honest, I knew absolutely nothing. Liam researched everywhere before we came, but I wanted to be surprised, to see each new part of it without expectation.”

“And what do you think of it?”

“I see why you love it so much.” He shifts across the smooth rock so he’s close enough to twine his fingers around Louis’. “Like you said about that canyon, the interior holds so many surprises. Like the Spitzkoppe mountains popping up out of the desert. And the Okavango, all that water in the middle of nowhere, a river petering out without ever reaching the sea. And Victoria Falls, a river that’s suddenly plunged over the edge of a gorge with no warning, that whole series of gorges, then everything’s flat again.” His thumb presses into Louis’ palm, his voice deepening. “And those ruins, a thousand years old, abandoned in a valley no one’s ever heard about with just the monkeys and ghosts for company.” He shakes his head. “If I’m going to miss it all, I can’t imagine how it must feel for you.”

Louis doesn’t want to talk about it, but feeling Harry’s sun-warmed hand in his soothes his instinctive panic. “It’s time, I guess. I’ve had it for five years. It’s been a home for me when I needed one and I’ll always think of it as one of my homes.”

“I suppose you’ll come to love South America too.”

“I hope so. It’s beautiful. Rather colder, in places.” Louis doesn’t know much about the continent, but then he knew nothing of Africa before he came. 

“There’s the Amazon jungle,” Harry points out.

“Glaciers down in the south.”

“The Inca trail. That’s gotta be special.”

“The Rio Carnival.”

“I want to go to that.” Harry’s hand tightens. “Maybe—maybe we can make a plan to meet there one day. One year.”

Louis can’t bear to think of all the time apart between now and then. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That would be nice.” And since they’re talking in possibilities, he adds, “What if I end up in Central Asia?”

“The Great Silk Road?”

“Yeah. Or Thailand. Maybe teaching diving.”

“I’ll come be your student. Or meet you in—” Harry pauses, obviously trying to think of something he knows about Asia. “Istanbul. Where the continents meet. Like I told you about.”

“You never showed me that picture.”

“I will. I’ll buy internet tonight and show you.”

Tonight feels very far away when it’s mid-morning and the sun’s hot and they have the most privacy they’re going to get for the rest of the trip.

“Let’s go further in,” Louis suggests, getting to his feet and pulling Harry up. “There’s a spot higher up where we can see down to here, in case anyone comes, but we’re mostly hidden by the trees.”

Harry follows with alacrity, jumping easily from rock to rock, hopping over tufts of thick yellow grass. There’s no sign of the clumsiness that defined him earlier in the tour. He’s comfortable out here with Louis. He feels safe. 

If only Louis could be there to make sure Harry always feels safe.

But no doubt Harry will be fine in London. It seems he thrived in Manchester, and he’ll fit right into London. There’s a strong gay scene there. He’ll have places to belong, people to belong to. 

And Louis will never be one of them.

But Harry’s with Louis today. He _is_ Louis’, today. Right now.

In a little sandy depression before the final ascent up the rocks, Louis whips around and tugs Harry into his arms. They’re both shirtless, chests bare against each other as Harry spreads his legs so he’s eye level with Louis. Their eyes meet, then Harry breaches the final distance and kisses him.

Harry kisses with a desperation that overwhelms Louis, like kissing Louis is the most urgent, important thing in Harry’s life, his entire focus, his sole hunger. Like he’s ravenous for Louis. 

Louis gets it, he does. He wants to lose himself in it, in Harry, in blazing desire and need and gratification, like last night just before bed when it only took seconds, but he doesn’t want something he’ll barely remember because he was too crazed with lust. 

These memories have to last a lifetime.

Not wanting to tell Harry no, he settles for dragging his teeth along Harry’s jaw line, down his neck. 

“Mark me, Lou.”

“People will notice.”

“Don’t care. Want them to.”

So does Louis, but he can’t. So he focuses on Harry’s broad chest, just below where his t-shirts will cover, and sucks hard. Harry tastes like lake water and sunshine with a tinge of coconut, and he groans as Louis intensifies the pressure. 

“More, babe.”

It’s the first time Harry’s called him anything like that, and after the way Louis let pet names spill out of him in a such a mess last night, it shivers through him. He gives Harry more, biting this time. 

“You’re killing me.”

In a good way, though, it’s clear. It’s so, so hard to pull himself away. “You taste so fucking good.”

Harry blinks, dazed. “Why’d you stop?”

“We have all day. Should pace ourselves.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of foreplay, Harriet?”

“You’re a tease, Lulubelle.”

“I am.” Louis dances away when Harry tries to grab for him. “But I have plans, and we need to get up there so we can make sure no one’s coming to interrupt us.”

It’s a steep climb to get up the final section of rocks. Louis goes first to make sure each handhold is safe, and he’s just reached the top when Harry’s hand comes down hard on his bum. It’s not something he’s been interested in before, but as heat spreads out from the initial burn, he realises he might have to change his mind. Christ, there are so many things to try. 

“Thought you were the naughty boy in this relationship,” he manages to say as Harry scrambles up onto the flat top of the largest rock to join him. 

Instead of standing, Harry remains on his knees. “Thought you said I was good.”

“That was yesterday.”

“I can make it up to you.” Harry’s eyes skate down over Louis’ chest to where his overeager dick is already straining against his trunks. “Ever had a blowjob from a man, Lou?”

Harry knows he hasn’t, but Louis still says, “No.”

“Want one?”

He can’t stand for this. His knees are already trembling with how badly he wants it, and he can damn his current self in the future for being so weak and eager. “Yeah, Haz, fuck, please.”

*

It’s a lot.

Harry’s mouth.

A month of fantasising about it didn’t come close. 

Especially when Harry brings his hands and Louis’ bum into play. 

*

Morning flows into afternoon. Louis keeps a half-hearted eye on the entrance to the island down below, but most of his attention is on Harry. 

He learns Harry’s body. Where to tickle him to make him laugh versus where to tickle to turn him on. The difference in taste between the skin on his shoulders and the lower slope of his stomach. How soft the flesh is of his thighs and how easily it bruises. _(More, Louis, harder, Louis, harder!)_ How Harry quiets when Louis rubs his thumbs up the dent either side of his spine and goes mental when he thumbs his nipples. Which nipple has the most direct line to his cock.

And, oh, Harry’s cock. Louis learns how to give a blowjob. How to lick and suck and nibble, how to lap at the head and sweep his tongue along the vein, how to try to open his throat to take Harry deeper, how to keep sucking when he gags, how to hold his hand over Harry’s mouth as he screams while keeping his own mouth open for Harry to empty himself into. 

How soft and cuddly Harry gets in the immediate aftermath of orgasm. How sleepy he gets and the way he clings to Louis as if terrified he won’t be there when he wakes up.

“Not going anywhere, Haz,” Louis murmurs, brushing his fingers through Harry’s humidity-damp curls. 

“Wanna make you come too,” Harry slurs, eyes closed, already drifting.

Louis can wait. He’s hard, but thanks to Harry blowing him earlier, he’s not desperate. He was more invested in Harry coming, and he feels semi-satiated from watching him. It felt like a waste last night when watching triggered his own orgasm, because it distracted him from being able to soak in every tiny gasp and shudder Harry made. He treasures every one.

It’s not easy staying awake on lookout, but he manages. Harry doesn’t doze for long, half an hour or so, and Louis plays with his hair and strokes his hot skin and makes sure the sun doesn’t burn either of them. 

They eat, feeding each other like romantic idiots, giggling at their foolishness but doing it anyway. Harry’s like a baby bird, nipping at Louis’ fingers for more. He loves feeding Harry, teasing him with the next mouthful, making him keep still, sit on his hands, thoroughly dependent on Louis. Then he lies back on his towel while Harry squeezes juice from an orange over Louis’ chest and stomach and licks it all up, and now it’s his turn to be discovered, to be played with. Harry’s laser focused, intent on uncovering Louis’ secrets. Sometimes Louis wants to blush and hide his face, considering what Harry discovers, but Harry reacts with such delight that he brazens it out. Even when Harry turns him over to lick between his cheeks. 

Louis never quite believed people wanted to do that. 

By the time Harry’s done, Louis splays him out so he can return the favour. 

*

They watch the afternoon storm under cover of a jutting rock, Harry between Louis’ legs, leaning back, cradled by him. It’s already familiar, sitting wrapped up together. 

It’s _them._

But never before has Louis taken advantage of the position to whisper increasingly dirty things into Harry’s ear before reaching around to take care of the situation he’s created.

*

Dusk is approaching. It’s not safe to be out in the lake after dark, so Louis has to get them back. Plus, there’s dinner to be made. He’s forgotten who’s on cooking today, but obviously Harry can’t stand in for him since he’s not there either. 

“Haz, we have to go.”

“No.” Harry’s dozing again, drawing lazy circles on Louis’ stomach. “Let’s never leave.”

“You want to live on this island forever?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve run out of food.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Water too.”

“Just need you.”

Yeah, Louis knows how he feels. He’s never felt so full before, so satisfied. So....complete. He doesn’t want to go back to where they have to part.

“I love this,” Harry says, and Louis heart almost stops before he reaches the third word. 

“Me too, love.”

“Darling.”

“Hmm?”

“Call me _darling_. I like it.”

Louis noticed, but it feels too intimate outside of sex. “Darling,” he says, since Harry asked. “My darling Harry.”

“Always, Lou.”

Sunset colours streak through the sky above them. It’s already too late to be as safe as they should be, but he can’t make himself hurry. When Harry says things like _always_ , is it hyperbole? Dramatics of the moment? “Always my darling,” he whispers, then pulls away. “Come on, Haz, we have to go.”

*

Back at camp, Harry helps him cook spaghetti bolognese with such serenity it’s hard to believe he was the writhing livewire in Louis’ arms all day. It’s like he’s drifted into another headspace, like he’s not really here. He doesn’t respond if anyone but Louis addresses him, so Louis runs interference and talks enough that hopefully nobody notices. He hears all about the drama with the sinking boat for the scuba lot and how they had to swim to shore and Liam and Rolf and Zayn saved all the equipment. Horse riding was a greater hit, since the afternoon horses took their riders into the water to play and most of the girls can’t contain their excitement over swimming with the horses. 

Amy went through a horse-mad phase around the time Louis was discovering he was exceptionally good at football, but not quite good enough. She had a weekend job at a stable to pay for lessons. Does she still ride? She would love this. 

It’s only later that he realises the thought of Amy doesn’t hurt the way it usually does, doesn’t set off the cascade of regret and anguish and misery he’s accustomed to. 

Maybe—but no. There’s too much else going on at the moment, between Michelle and having to find a new job and Harry; better not try adding his family into the mix.

Harry, who’s eating spaghetti with a smile on his face, looking blissed out. 

No one can prove a thing. The marks of Louis’ teeth are all beneath his t-shirt, just as intended. His red and swollen lips can be attributed to sunburn, his tousled hair to the breeze. Nothing visible on his body screams: _Louis was here!_

But Louis knows.

And Harry knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	32. Chapter 32

**Day 32 - Harry**

**Kande Beach to Chitimba Beach, Malawi**

Harry wakes before five to a wild wind bashing the bamboo blinds around. In the bed next to Niall, Liam looks like he’s stirring.

“I’ve got it,” Harry tells him. “Go back to sleep.”

“’kay.”

He secures the windows closed and braves the gales along the pathway to the bathrooms, figuring he may as well go pee, since he’s up. 

There’s someone already there, splashing water on a horribly pale face.

“Lou!”

Louis jerks. “Haz?” His eyes are screwed up when he turns around as though the light’s hurting them. 

“Hey.” Harry hurries over. “You want me to turn out the light?”

“Then I can’t see.”

“It’s okay. Close your eyes. I’ll guide you. What’s wrong? Another headache?”

Louis nods, shutting his eyes and slumping into Harry’s embrace. “Hurts.”

“Did you take something?”

“Just did.”

“Okay.” He rubs a slow, comforting hand up and down Louis’ back. “Do you need anything else? Do you need food? Something to drink?”

Louis whimpers as Harry closes his hand around the back of his neck. “Water. Dehydrated.”

Shit. Harry was aware on the island that Louis was giving him most of the water, but he figured Louis was monitoring his own intake sufficiently and would be okay. “I’ve got some in the room, a whole flask of it. Want to come with me?”

“Liam an’ Niall.”

“Wha—oh.” As they step outside, the wind abruptly dies between one second and the next. The black of night is turning to dark grey, morning approaching. Heavy, angry clouds hover overhead, and the air without the wind is thick and hard to breathe. 

“Storm’s coming.” Louis lifts his head, scents the stillness. “Big one.” He drops back against Harry’s shoulder. “Pressure doesn’t help my head.”

“It’ll break,” Harry says more certainly than he feels. “Come back to mine. I’ll get you water and we can sit on the balcony and watch the storm.” Louis doesn’t move. “Want me to carry you?”

“Fuck you,” Louis says, but he starts shuffling towards the cabins. 

He looks a little better by the time Harry helps him up the wooden steps, less washed out, steadier on his feet. The painkillers must be kicking in. Harry sits him down on one of the wicker chairs then ducks into the room. He’s confident feeling around for things in the dark now, especially on his second night in the same place, and he grabs the flask of clean water, his phone to keep track of time, and his rainbow hoodie, even though sweat’s rolling off him from the intense humidity. If Louis’ temperature drops, he’ll need it.

Liam sits up just as he’s easing towards the door. “H?”

“You still have a couple hours to sleep,” Harry says softly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

The air’s even heavier when he steps outside again, utterly soundless, the lake spread out like silver glass as the sky gradually lightens behind the clouds. Everything’s expectant, desperate to break. 

“Haz,” Louis says. “Y’came back.”

“Of course.” The wicker chairs are not remotely comfortable, so Harry sits down on the floorboards, back to the cool brick. “Come down here, Lou, and sit with me. Let me massage your shoulders a little, see if that helps. I have water here for you, too.”

Louis crumples cross-legged in front of him, takes the water, but only drinks a sip. 

It feels good to have Louis back in his arms. Right. This is where Louis belongs. His shoulders are tight, his body nothing like the relaxed, sated man Harry held against him on the island less than twelve hours ago. Fuck headaches, honestly. Louis doesn’t deserve this. But at least Harry is here and he can use his hands to give Louis whatever relief he can.

A few minutes later, the storm erupts. The rain is ferocious, slamming into the lake and the sand with violent fury. They’re safe where they are, protected by an overhanging thatch roof, and Louis leans back against Harry’s chest to watch it. 

“Don’t get this in Yorkshire,” he comments after a while.

“Nor in Cheshire.” Harry holds up the flask for Louis to have more water. “Pills kicking in?”

“A bit. Water’ll help too. Thank you.”

“No trouble.” Because it’s five o’clock in the morning and no one’s around, he chances a kiss against Louis’ sweaty hair. At least today isn’t a heavy day, just half a day of driving with a stop in a town in the mountains for free internet in a famous coffee shop while Louis stocks up on groceries. Harry can help with that, at least. He’s had enough practice that if Louis doesn’t feel better by then, he can do it himself with Louis’ planned menu. Then they’ll be at their second lake campground and Louis can sleep all afternoon if need be. 

The storm is magnificent. After about an hour, the air has chilled sufficiently for Louis to start shivering, so Harry bundles him up in the hoodie and cuddles him close. Fuck anyone who objects. He kept Louis warm in public before they were together and he’s damn well going to do so now. 

“This is nice,” Louis says a while later, sounding drowsy. “I’ve never got to enjoy an African storm with someone before.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“To the bathroom?”

“To Africa. On my trip. I’m glad you were mine and not somebody else’s.”

Harry’s definitely nobody else’s. 

*

Louis feels better enough to take the helm for breakfast, so Harry withdraws and lets him take care of it even though he has an off day for duties today and could easily chip in. Liam’s on cooking and, after stumbling upon them just before seven this morning, both half asleep on the balcony as the storm faded around them, he sets everything up so Louis doesn’t have to move around too much and jar his head. He’s a good friend, and Harry doesn’t feel like he’s appreciated Liam nearly as much as he should have in the past. 

Harry steps in to help pack up the kitchen, though, under guise of continuing his conversation about the proper way to ride a horse with Niall and Alicia when they get up to wash the dishes. They set Nora to dry with Alicia while Niall washes, and Harry co-opts Rolf into helping him fold up the tables and put everything away in their compartments. Zayn fills several barrels with fresh drinking water for the road, helped by a smiling Liam—and Harry really has to find out what’s going on in that saga because he can’t figure it out for the life of him—and Duncan and one of the Korean guys (whose names Harry shamefully still doesn’t know) grab Louis and Zayn’s tent and their bags as part of their general truck packing. 

It’s such a well-oiled team that Louis just stands there drinking his second cup of tea watching it happen around him. “Seems like I can retire,” he jokes. “You don’t need me at all.”

The others may not, but Harry does. 

He hates getting in the back of the truck while Louis sits upfront. All these hours they could spend together, wasted. 

He can’t concentrate on lyrics. There are too many swirling around his head and he can’t express any of them right now, not out loud, not on paper. He’ll write when he gets home, they’ll still be there, after he knows how everything ends. 

At first he tries to work on pictures, pulling out the fish underwater from yesterday, but all the winding through the mountains starts to make him carsick, so he stuffs the rainbow hoodie Louis returned beneath his head and curls up on his seat and goes to sleep.

*

There aren’t too many groceries available in Mzuzu. Three-quarters of the shelves in the supermarket are empty, in stark contrast to Harare last week. Louis promised everyone a full hour of good, free internet, so he suggests he and Harry join the others in the coffee shop once they’ve purchased what little they can. There’ll be a lot of rice during the next few days, along with whatever fresh food Louis can pick up along the way to Dar es Salaam, and the coffee shop offers muffins and cakes and scones. 

It’s crowded when they enter. Harry tells Louis to find them a place to sit while he fetches something for them to eat. Louis manages to clear a single armchair, which means they get to sit tangled up on top of each other as they savour their muffins and catch up online.

Harry dashes off quick emails to his mum and Gemma, since he never got around to buying internet last night after all, too busy spending another night around the fire with Louis, answers a more formal one from his future internship office confirming his intended start date, then starts scrolling through his Instagram to find the Istanbul picture he told Louis about. 

Louis tenses suddenly.

“Lou?”

Louis angles his phone for Harry to see. There’s a short email from a Michelle Rensburg informing him that his belongings have been packed up and are in three boxes at Southern Skies’ head office.

Louis’ entire life, bar the backpack he has on tour with him. 

“You okay?”

Louis stares down at what’s likely to be the final communication from his ex-girlfriend. “I should maybe be sadder? I think?”

“You’re not?”

“I don’t really feel anything. I’m a bit glad I didn’t have to do it. I hope she remembered my surfboard—although I guess I won’t need it in South America, will I?”

“You can send it to me in London,” Harry offers recklessly. “I’ll keep it for you.”

Louis goes still. “Not much call for it in England.”

“You might end up in Australia next. You never know. I have space.” Not really, but it doesn’t matter. This is more important. “Your wetsuit too. Then I can send them wherever you need them again.”

“Haz.”

“I’ll keep them safe.”

Louis’ hesitant expression melts. “I know you will. But it’s too much to ask.

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering. I’ve offered. All you need to do is accept. Just think about it.”

*

They’re making good time down the Viphya mountains towards the northern stretch of the lake when Zayn twists around a corner and brakes to a hasty stop. 

“What’s going on?” Liam calls, standing up to try and see through the windows at the front above the cab. 

“Uh, a traffic jam, looks like,” Duncan calls back.

“There’s a traffic jam in the mountains?”

Louis hops down from the cab and winds between the line of cars and trucks stopped on the narrow mountain road until he disappears around a corner. A few minutes later he returns, stops to shout something up to Zayn, then heads around towards the back of the truck. Liam leaps down to open the door from the inside to let Louis in.

He looks tired, like his head is hurting again, but he cries cheerfully, “Oi, you lot, how’re we all doing?”

Harry wants to shut them up when they shout back eagerly at him about doing fine and asking what’s happening.

“Seems like two trucks crashed into each other on a bridge about half a mile ahead of us,” Louis says. “They’re trying to fix them, or at least one of them so they can clear one side of the road, so all we can do is wait, I’m afraid.”

Fortunately, high in the mountains it’s not too unpleasantly warm and the humidity is low. There’s not much shelter, just scrubby forests on either side of the narrow road. It isn’t the worst place to be stuck, but Harry was counting on reaching the lake in the next hour or so for Louis to lie down and rest. He’s looking pale again as he fields questions he has no answers for, a thin sheen of sweat across his face and sliding down his neck. 

Has Louis always suffered from these debilitating headaches? Or are they something the stress of this trip is causing? The last one was just after he got upset looking at his siblings on Instagram in Namibia. 

Harry’s not sure what to do. As everyone leaves the truck, taking advantage of the stop to stretch their legs or disappear into the spindly bushes to relieve themselves, he sidles up to Louis and waits for the questions to die down. 

He isn’t sure if Louis knows he’s there, hovering just behind him, but suddenly Louis slumps back against him. “Haz.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Brightness and animation gone, Louis just sounds tired. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. What about you? Do you need more pills?”

“They’re not working.”

Damn. “What do you need?”

Louis turns around, looking bleak. “To be unconscious. To sleep it off. But that’ll have to wait.”

“Can’t you sleep now, while we’re stopped?”

“I’m in charge.” He gestures around at his scattered passengers and the locals who are materialising out of the forest to watch this strange cargo of mostly white people disrupt their mountains. “I need to keep in charge of developments, and we might end up having to have lunch up here.”

“It could take that long?” It’s just after twelve, but it’s not long since they all stuffed themselves at the Mzuzu coffee shop.

“If they can’t fix the trucks, they’ll have to dismantle them to clear the road. They can’t even be pushed to the side because they’re on a bridge. It could be hours, Haz.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Louis takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders. “Oh well, at least we have plenty of water. We’ll have to use up the last of the bread and hope we can get more in Chitimba.”

Tomorrow they set off on two long driving days into and across the southern half of Tanzania to Dar es Salaam. No bread makes meals a lot more complicated on the road. “Is that likely?”

A grin flashes across Louis’ face. “I might have to bribe the lovely ladies at the camp there to bake us some overnight. Think I can?”

For a smile like that, there’s nothing Harry wouldn’t do. “I used to be a baker,” he says inanely. “You can offer my services, free of charge, to help.”

“Ooh, did you wear one of those big white hats?”

“No,” Harry admits. “I actually worked on the tills and cleaned the place up. But I watched them bake. Did it for two summers, so I know a bit.”

“Pity.” Louis bops him on the nose. “You’d have looked cute.”

“I’m cute anyway, though.”

Louis’ eyes soften. “You are, babe.”

He loves Louis calling him that. Funny, since he hated it when Shane called him pet names. They always sounded contrived and artificial, like Shane couldn’t be bothered to differentiate Harry from any other lover he’d had. It doesn’t feel like that with Louis. 

*

They don’t reach the lake until almost four. 

It’s a long and painful afternoon at the side of the road with people losing patience and frustrations flaring, while Louis bounces around with relentless cheer and endless enthusiasm to keep spirits up. Harry sets out lunch and makes Louis sit in the shade to eat what Harry puts together for him, but otherwise he keeps his distance and lets Louis do his job. Entertaining Nora, Veronique and Katrina with tales about Niall’s tour seems a small price to pay to keep them off Louis’ list of concerns. 

After the bridge is cleared, progress is agonisingly slow down the steep mountain passes, trapped behind the dozens of trucks and buses that were ahead of them in the traffic jam. Harry doesn’t envy Zayn the amount of concentration it must take, and he’s glad that at least Louis isn’t driving. Hopefully he’s able to nap a bit in his passenger seat. 

Chitimba camp isn’t right on the water, but set back closer to the hills with a wide stretch of sand, palm trees and patches of long grass and bushes obscuring the view. On the far side of the lake, the mountains of Tanzania rise darkly against the horizon. 

Harry steps out of the truck into a wall of dense humidity. After the reprieve in the mountains, it’s harder to bear, the saturated air difficult to breathe. His clothes are drenched by the time he’s erected his tent and hauled his bag into it. Once camp is set up, the others make a beeline to the lake, but he goes in search of Louis. 

He finds him semi-passed out at a picnic table outside the thatched open bar area, Zayn beside him looking worried.

“Harry.”

“How is he?”

“Determined to get dinner going.”

“Won’t take long,” Louis says without opening his eyes. “Just the prep. For cooking later. When it’s cooler.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Haz.” Louis’ eyes flick open briefly. They’re red and bruised. “You’re on holiday. It’s hot. Go swimming. Enjoy yourself.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as Harry huffs. “I’ll go up to the village, see if I can find some stronger painkillers for you.” He slides off the wooden table. “Harry? Deal with him, please.”

Zayn’s leaving him in charge of Louis. Zayn trusts him with Louis when Louis is virtually defenceless. This feels far better than carousing in the lake would. “I will.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Louis slurs after Zayn’s gone. “I’m fine.”

“You’re worse than you were this morning.”

“Got nauseous coming down the mountain. It’ll pass in a minute. Honestly, Haz.”

Louis is a liar. “Fine. Great. Wait here a sec.”

“Where’re you going?”

“I’ll be back. Just wait.”

Louis drops his head back against one of the pillars holding up the thatched roof and doesn’t reply.

The barman is a friendly sort, distressed to hear about Louis. “Could be he needs sugar,” he says. “Take him one of these and make him drink it along with plenty of water.” 

It’s clear he’s another of Louis’ mates, because he refuses payment for the ice-cold bottle of Fanta Orange he offers and thanks Harry as though taking it for Louis is doing him a personal favour. He also turns down the music he’s blaring out. All these people along the way are going to miss Louis when he goes to South America. 

“I don’t normally need this much taking care of,” Louis says when Harry returns. “I’m stronger than this.”

“’Course you are.” Harry plonks down beside him on the built-in stone bench and reaches for him. “Come on, lean against me and drink this. The barman sent it to you with his regards.”

“Mitch.” Obligingly, Louis goes where Harry puts him. “I should go say hi.”

“Later. Drink this first.”

It’s different on the road, Harry’s realised, being ill. At home, you just don’t go out if you’re unwell. Nobody sees you suffer. You call in sick to work or cancel an evening out. Here, it’s everyone’s business. Marya nursed Jim through a bout of stomach flu in Etosha when he couldn’t stop throwing up. Hayley fainted twice in the desert because she was too scared of needing the bathroom without bushes to hide behind to drink enough water. Carlie ran out of tampons while chasing the rhinos, Elise slept in the aisle of the truck passed out from migraine medication for the entire two days of driving through Zambia, and Harry himself had the trouble with airsickness in Maun. All of these and so much more have happened in public. On the road together, everyone’s forced to show their vulnerabilities since there’s no way to hide them.

Even Louis. 

He probably goes to the most effort to hide his, Harry muses as Louis drifts off after downing half of the Fanta. He’s in charge, the one they’re all depending on to guide them safely across the continent, and no doubt he does his best to disguise it whenever he’s struggling. Like he did this afternoon during the hold up. 

But he’s let Harry see.

And Zayn, after covering for Louis in the past, has allowed Harry into their tight inner circle as well. 

When Zayn gets back, Louis is sound asleep. He eases into Harry’s position for Louis to rest against, and although it’s hard to leave Louis, Harry heads back past the bar to the campsite to survey their remaining provisions to see what he can make for dinner. That reminds him about the bread. 

The ladies running the restaurant for the resort side of the campsite also turn out to be members of Louis’ African fan club, what a surprise. They exclaim in horror to hear he’s feeling poorly, confirm that supplies from Mzuzu have been a problem for a while now, but they knew Louis was on his way so they’ve kept some stuff for him. They pile Harry’s arms high with loaves of bread, a sack of potatoes, two bags of vegetables, four dozen eggs, and even a cake mix (“in case it’s anyone’s birthday”), and tell him to come back in the morning for fresh milk. 

“I’m not really one of the staff,” he explains anxiously, “so I don’t have access to the money to pay for all of this.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that, my boy,” Anika, the older lady, says with a casual flick of her hand. “Louis is one of us. He cooked for fifty resort guests once when I was sick, out for the count with malaria, and this one was pregnant. Did breakfast for them, too, before he left in the morning.”

“He babysits my Elsie every time he comes through,” adds Clarissa, who seems to be Anika’s daughter. “She runs him ragged and all he does is laugh. He’s a treasure, that one.”

“Just take the food,” Anika insists. “We’re having a strong season, we can spare it for Louis.” She pats Harry on the back. “And you’re a good one for helping him when you could be partying down on the beach.”

“It’s Louis,” Harry says, and they nod approvingly.

“I’m glad he has you,” Anika says as she walks him to the door. “I worry about that boy sometimes.”

Her eyes tell him she knows what they are to each other. “I worry about him too,” Harry admits. “Thank you for helping him like this. He’s not having the best time right now, so—well, it means a lot.”

“Any time. You tell him he has our best wishes, you hear me?”

“I’ll tell him. And thank you again.”

*

With the extra rations, Harry has a good dinner going by the time Liam shows up with the rest of his cooking group. 

“Everything’s done,” he tells them. “You can go back to the lake. Let everyone know we’ll be ready to eat at seven.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Yolanda high-fives him as she and Elise return to the beach, herding the confused Korean couple with them. 

Liam lingers. “Louis still bad?”

“He’s sleeping. Zayn’s got him.”

“Oh? I wondered—should’ve guessed.”

“He went up to the village to get stronger painkillers.” Harry stirs the potatoes he’s boiling for mash. “He’s a really good mate to Louis.”

“He loves Louis a lot.” 

“Yeah.” Harry stirs a bit more, more than he should, leaving little crumbling clouds behind. They’re almost ready. “Do you know what he’s planning when Louis leaves?”

“Leaves? Louis is leaving?”

Oh, shit. Has Louis not mentioned his imminent resignation and South America to Zayn? Or—no, Louis is leaving because of his break-up, but no one on the tour other than Zayn and Harry knows about that. “Forget I said that.” He heaves the enormous pot off the burner. “There’s stuff with Louis I can’t talk about right now.”

“Like the fact he and Michelle broke up?”

“That’s not my business to talk about, Liam.”

“But it’s my business when he’s fucking you in our bedroom.”

“He’s not—” A potato bounces off into the grass and Harry grabs it. If he plunges it back into boiling water for a minute, will it be safe enough to eat? “We’re not—we didn’t. Exactly.”

“H, look at me.”

Harry can’t. “What about you and Zayn?”

“There’s stuff I can’t talk about there, too.”

“Is that right?”

When Liam gets it into his head, sometimes he can be utterly immovable. “Yes.”

“He likes you.”

“I know.”

“And you like him.”

Liam shifts on the piece of wall he’s sitting on. “Is Louis just a fling to you?”

It doesn’t sound like idle curiosity, nerves scrape through Liam’s voice, so Harry turns away from his potatoes. “I’m not sure. It’s complicated.”

“Does it bother you that you live such different lives?”

“It doesn’t make for a compatible long-term future,” Harry says carefully, “him in Africa and me in London, if that’s what you mean.”

“But if he’s leaving—”

“Not for England. And please don’t mention that I said anything about that to anyone.”

“I won’t.” Liam sounds as though he means it. “I won’t, H. I’m just trying to understand. I’ll be honest here. You look like you’re falling in love, and so does Louis.”

 _So does Louis._

It’s easier to pick up the masher and take out the tension that causes on the potatoes. There are a lot of them and mashing them’s hard work. When he feels like he can trust his voice, he says, “We have twelve days left after today. That’s all.”

Liam doesn’t answer for a moment. “Long-distance relationships are a thing,” he says once Harry’s potatoes are largely flattened. 

Harry fetches the remainder of their milk and the pack of butter, busying himself with them so he doesn’t have to look at Liam. “When I’m an intern working eighteen hours a day and he’s in—on another continent?”

“You still believe law is your future?”

That is not where Harry expected this conversation to go. “You know it is.”

“I know you say it is,” Liam says patiently. “I wondered if you’d changed your mind.”

He’d been thinking about it, Harry recalls. It’s so long since anything’s been in his mind but Louis that he’d basically forgotten. “You know why I want to do this, Liam. You know why it’s important to me. To be honest, your lack of support is—” He falters, because he’s resisted saying this for so long, unable to find the courage to confront it. “It’s hurtful. If you don’t think I’m good enough to be a lawyer, then just say it.”

Liam recoils. “That’s not it, Harry.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry knows it is. “Maybe I was a soft kid. I admit it. Maybe I’m still a dreamer who struggles to face up to the ugly reality of things, but can’t that be a good thing? Couldn’t that work in my favour in a world where I could be—I could be so easily corrupted, I could become hard and mean and only care about winning, you know? All those lawyer clichés. Just because I don’t want to be any of that, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing!”

“It’s not.”

“But you make out like it is.” Harry’s shaking. That’s something he needs to work on, something that makes him look weak. “I know I’m not like you and Louis, I know I don’t come across like I’m in control of everything and capable of everything, I know that’s not me. But I care. I care about things being right. I care about the people involved, people that I can help, people I can fight for and protect. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course it is.”

“That’s who I want to be, Liam. And I’m good at law, you know I am. All my professors thought so.” It’s always stung that everyone at uni supported him in his dream, while his closest friends and his family did not. “Just because I like pretty things and I write soppy, romantic lyrics and I wear rainbows sometimes doesn’t mean I’m not smart enough to be a lawyer, I’m not strong enough to help people.” 

“You’re perfectly smart and strong, Haz. Don’t ever doubt it.”

Harry whirls around, milk splattering out onto the grass. “Lou! How are you feeling?”

Louis catches the jug of milk. “Better enough to help you finish dinner. Where’d all the potatoes come from?”

“The resort ladies. They gave me vegetables and eggs, bread too, that they’ve been keeping for you. They said there haven’t been supplies for a while in Mzuzu.”

“I’ll have to go over and thank them.” Louis puts the jug down. “Hey, Liam. You helping Haz?”

“Apparently not.” Liam stands. “I’ll get out of both of your way. H?”

Harry looks at him reluctantly.

“You’re right,” Liam says. “You’re right and I’m sorry. I won’t question you again.”

Good. That’s what Harry wants. But maybe the loving opposition hasn’t been a bad thing, because he’s been forced to think about it, to truly evaluate his position and his reasoning. He wants this. He does. He’s certain.

*

Louis looks better for his nap. Harry gives him lots of vegetables for dinner, and despite the face he pulls, he obediently eats them as he bounces around various groups to ask about people’s afternoons in the lake. Harry’s getting accustomed to the new voices now, no longer startled to hear French, Danish or Brazilian accents instead of British, South African or Singaporean. At least there’s still the German of Rolf and Annette, and Harry chooses to sit with them and look through Rolf’s pictures from the last few days at the lake, giving feedback on the techniques Rolf’s been experimenting with. 

It’s preferable to sitting with Liam and Niall right now. 

It’s fine for them. They’re already following their chosen career paths. They’re already proving themselves. Harry’s behind them because he’s had to study more, he’s not even finished yet, but that doesn’t mean his choice isn’t equally valid. To be honest, he knows Niall’s hesitant about Liam’s elaborate ambitions for his future, the plans for stadiums and entire world tours and number one albums. Niall’s the one Liam should be talking to about being happy and capable and sure, not Harry. 

As the meal winds down, Niall proposes a mini karaoke concert with his guitar since it’s still too sticky to sleep. It’s a popular plan, and Mitch turns off the music he’s playing and lets them set up strewn across the low sofas and stone walls around the bar area. 

Louis finds Harry as he’s closing up the kitchen hatches. “Just wanted to say goodnight.” He’s looking better, still tired, but pain no longer strains his eyes. “I’m gonna go shower, then to bed.”

A quick check reveals that Zayn is up at the bar with Liam, clearly gearing up for the show. “Can I join you?”

“Haz—”

“I need a shower too, I’ve been wanting one since we got here.”

Louis repeats Harry’s scan of the rest of their group. It looks like everyone’s engaged in the karaoke idea. One of the Koreans is humming a song to Niall that he wants to sing, the girls are setting out cushions on the floor to sit on, and the German and Kiwi couples have claimed the sofas closest to the front. “Okay,” he agrees. 

Harry’s tent is directly behind Louis and Zayn’s, he discovers. He grabs his shower stuff, adds a clean pair of shorts and his towel, and follows Louis across the thick matted grass to the camp ablution block. 

“Funny,” Louis comments as they survey the little shower cubicles in the men’s bathroom, “this is a camp that has brilliant hot water.”

That’s the last thing Harry wants. Stripping off and dumping his clothes on the low wooden bench, he enters the cubicle in the far corner, leaving the wooden privacy flap open. He flicks the water on. “Come join me.”

Louis tugs his shirt over his head. “I shouldn’t.”

“We’re the only campers here tonight and everyone’s at the concert.”

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Leading you astray,” Harry says solemnly, watching Louis step out of his shorts and underwear. “Fuck, you’re pretty, Lou.”

“Am I?” The bathroom light is dull, casting intriguing shadows over the planes and curves of Louis’ naked body as he walks towards Harry. Sashays, more like it.

“Your hips should be illegal.”

Louis pauses in the doorway to the cubicle, silhouetted against the light. “You like them.” 

“I like all of you.”

“You do, do you?”

“Come here, Lou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	33. Chapter 33

**Day 33 - Louis**

**Chitimba Beach, Malawi to Iringa, Tanzania**

The only frustration about last night, Louis thinks as Zayn speeds north between the lake and the rice paddies that glisten beneath the thickly forested Nyika plateau, is that he’s now got two blowjobs from Harry and only been able to return the favour once. He still marvels that blowing him was enough to make Harry come untouched in the shower last night. Does Harry really find him that hot? 

“Want you always,” Harry mumbled into his hair afterwards, when they were lying on Louis’ sleeping bag, mostly naked, cuddling closer than the sultry heat made comfortable. Another one of those statements from him that implies so much more than they have. 

Yet at the same time, Harry offered to keep his surfing shit while he’s in South America, so clearly he’s cool with Louis disappearing off to another continent after this. 

That reminds him.

“Um, Zayn?”

“Um, Louis?”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“Sorry.” Zayn purses his lips together. “You look very cute over there, you know.”

“Cute?” Since when does Zayn say things like this to him. “How dare you.”

“Your hair’s all....” Zayn waves his hand around. “Chaotic.”

“Thank you.” Louis knows. It dried all pushed over to one side from having his head on Harry’s chest, and their breakfast at five and departure at six this morning didn’t give him time to try and fix it. 

_Little hedgehog_ , Harry whispered to him this morning when he leaned around Louis to make his tea, and Louis pretended to be outraged and smacked Harry hard with the dishtowel in his hand, but the way Harry said it....the fondness in his voice....well, Harry can call him whatever he likes if he says it like that. 

“You wanted something, though?”

“Oh. Yes. Right. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re running off with Harry.”

“What? No! Why would I do that?”

Zayn fixes him with scathing eyes. “Did I or did I not come back to the tent last night to find you two sleeping together?”

“I wasn’t asleep. And he went back to his own tent after you so rudely woke him up.”

“Lucky I did, since that’s right when everyone else started coming back. You need to be careful, Louis.”

Louis knows that. It’s just, when Harry gets near him, the rest of the world stops mattering very much, even though it should. “About that. Um.” How does he say this. “This is my last trip.” 

Zayn overtakes a donkey cart and a truck filled with steel pipes before he says, “To Nairobi?”

“The return trip. To Cape Town.”

“Okay.” Nodding slowly, Zayn looks across at him. “You’re leaving Africa? Or just Southern Skies?”

“I’ve applied at a couple of companies that do South America.” Louis’ heart is beating so hard he can see the vibration against his shirt. He fists his hand over it, as if somehow that can make this easier. “Central Asia too.”

“Have you told them?”

“Southern Skies? Not yet. I wasn’t sure if I should send in my resignation when we get to Dar es Salaam or wait until Nairobi.”

“I’d say Nairobi.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Zayn slows down to enter the small lakeside town of Karonga. There’s a museum here that Louis notices each time they pass through. It has a 150 million-year-old fossil of a dinosaur that was found nearby. Louis has always wanted to see it. 

He never will.

Zayn doesn’t speak the rest of the way to the border. It’s an uncomfortable hour, but Louis doesn’t know how to break the silence so he watches the lake sparkle in the distance until they leave it behind to head up into the mountains again towards Tanzania. It’s too depressing to look at the drowning rice fields. They look too much like he feels. 

*

Everyone’s asleep when they reach the Songwe River border post. Relieved to have someone to talk to, Louis wakes them up with a yell and they gradually liven up through the border procedure out of Malawi. No troubles here for once, then it’s back into the truck to drive across the bridge to Tanzania. 

Songwe is wild, a riot of unofficial vendors clamouring for attention from any tourist, and Louis always turns up with a bunch of them. Most of his passengers have by now become inured to the constant onslaught of money-hungry hawkers any time they’re in public. Some, like Danny and Carlie, relish the challenge of haggling with them, while others, like Harry, shrink away and guiltily give them whatever they ask for first. Many of his new crop from Victoria Falls are still struggling, overwhelmed and intimidated when they’re swallowed up by a shouting crowd eager to hustle them out of their money. Here in Tanzania in particular, pickpocketing is a significant problem as well, or worse. It’s exhausting, and it took Louis a long time to get to the place he is now where he barely notices them and brushes the incessant harassment aside with polite smiles without letting it get to him. And keeps his hand on his wallet at all times.

Liam seems to be doing a good job of keeping Harry distracted, so Louis focuses on his new women, some of whom look terrified, because this is by far the worst they’ve had it. He extricates them, finding a wall for them to gather against while they wait for Zayn and the protection of Rafiki. 

Finally, he fights his way over to Harry. “Hey.” It’s so hard not to add _love_ or _babe_ onto the end of that, but Tanzania is the country they have to be the most careful in, with its intense hostility towards homosexuality and troublesome record on human rights. 

What he wants to do with Harry while they’re here carries a penalty of life imprisonment. 

What is he _thinking?_

But then Harry’s face lights up and he shakes back a curl that’s come loose from his blue scarf and it’s all Louis can do not to surge forward and kiss him. “Hi, Lou, new country!”

He settles for an awkward punch on Harry’s arm. “Did you all change your watches and phones an hour forward?”

“Already on it,” Liam says. “An hour of the day gone, just like that.”

An hour of a very long driving day. “Just another nine or ten to go.”

“I was just saying, Louis,” Niall puts in, “that I bought a deck of cards from a vendor at the lake. Do you have to sit up front the whole time, or can you come back and join us for a few games? The seat next to Harry is empty.”

He doesn’t have to look at Harry to feel him perk up. “Can’t say it’s very fair of me to abandon Zayn to drive alone for all these hours.”

“I could—” Liam hesitates. “If it’s not against the rules, I could keep him company.” 

It’s completely against the rules. Louis has never once allowed a passenger in the cab. On the other hand, who’s going to tell? “Tell you what, I’ll ask him. This is a very monotonous journey, so I’d love any chance of entertainment. But only if Zayn’s happy with it.”

Liam looks confident, and Harry steps closer so the back of his hand brushes Louis’ arm. 

How is he so fucking beautiful?

The trusting way he fell asleep last night in Louis’ arms, curled up on the sleeping bag, clinging to Louis. Louis fought his own fatigue because he didn’t want to miss a moment of it. He desperately hopes Zayn agrees for Liam to take Louis’ place.

Zayn does. He even looks happy about it, although he tries for his usual inscrutability. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love?”

“Zayn—”

“Go, Louis. Enjoy yourself. Liam and I’ll be fine.”

“We can talk again after we stop for lunch in Mbeya. If you want me to come back then, just say.”

“Stop worrying about me, Louis.” 

“Or if you want us to swap before, just stop for a bathroom break—”

“Go.”

Usually Louis enjoys the first hour or two of Tanzania. The road meanders along a series of mountain ridges peppered with farms, little brick houses roofed with tin dotted on the highest points, while emerald green fields of banana trees, corn, and other crops he’s not knowledgeable enough to identify are terraced into the steep hillsides below. Constant purple smudges of further mountain ranges hover in the distance. 

He sees none of it today. He sits next to Harry, after the general excited hubbub of him joining his passengers dies down, both their backs to the rest of the truck. Oliver joins them to play on Niall’s side so his wife can lie down on both their seats, since her migraines are troubling her again. Louis hasn’t got to know him yet as well as he should. He usually hangs back behind Elise, who is accustomed to taking charge of patients and wards, and has already become something of a mother figure for the younger women despite not being that much older than them. But he has a wickedly sarcastic sense of humour, which Louis always welcomes, and rivals Harry for soft-heartedness. Fortunately Niall’s not the type to take advantage, and any time Louis tries anything he knows he could get away with, Harry turns big reproachful eyes on him, so he abandons his usual clever ploys and plays it straight—ha, he thinks to himself. Funny. He’s left straightness so far behind he barely remembers what it looks like. 

Because all he really sees is Harry. 

Harry in his sky blue t-shirt and blue scarf that make Louis feel like he has a visible claim on him. With his sweaty curls and face flushed from the heat and the pretty lips that were wrapped around Louis just a few hours ago. With his wild laugh and dancing eyes and general Harryness that makes Louis wants to wrap himself up in him because he can’t imagine any better place to be. The constant bumps in the road give them excuses for falling into each other. The table on the other side of the truck is taken by the four Koreans, who are all fast asleep, so Louis feels safe to let one of his legs remain hooked over Harry’s after a particularly sharp jolt. Harry drops a hand onto Louis’ thigh beneath the table, playing one-handed as he strokes his thumb back and forth, a lot higher than Louis should be comfortable with. 

He lets it happen anyway.

After their stop for lunch on a hilltop overlooking Mbeya, a glance at Zayn tells him it will be fine to return to the back. Oliver plays a few more games before rejoining Elise, who’s feeling better now they’re on a much straighter road through the valley, and Niall declares he’s going to sit with Alicia, who has a double seat to herself near the front. The Koreans are asleep again, as is almost everyone else, drowsy after their big meal and the boredom of the relentless road. 

They’re driving directly east now, away from the sun, and the breeze from the mountains cools the interior of the truck. It gives Louis the excuse to cuddle up to Harry as they stretch out, their legs tangled on the empty back seat on the other side of the table.

“You’re a good pillow,” he says sleepily, making himself comfortable on Harry’s chest. 

Harry’s arm wraps around his stomach, holding him securely so he won’t slip off over one of the incessant bumps. “You’re nice to cuddle.” With his other hand, Harry picks up his phone, which is lying on the table beside them. “Do you mind if I take a picture?”

“What, in the truck?”

“Yeah.”

“Of me?”

“Of us.”

 _Us._ “Remember you’re sending me all of these afterwards.”

Harry takes the picture without warning Louis to smile. “When we get to Nairobi, I’ll put them all on a memory card for you.”

Annoyed because he probably had a stupid look on his face, Louis grabs the phone from him and angles it down so he can see the screen as he takes another one. “Smile, babe.”

Oh yes, that’s nice. Harry gets such a soft, luminous look on his face when Louis calls him _babe_ or _baby,_ and now Louis has a record of it. “How long are you guys staying in Nairobi after we get there?”

They’ll reach their destination around lunchtime on the final day of the tour, Arusha only five hours from Nairobi on a good road, with a generally trouble-free border. Many people fly out that evening, and Louis hopes Harry won’t be one of them, that they’ll get at least one more night together.

“We fly out just before midnight.”

“The day we arrive?”

“It’s Saturday night, and I start my internship on Monday. We have to.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kind of is. Niall and Liam don’t need to get back until the following week. They wanted to add on a trip to see the gorillas in Uganda, but then decided to come back with me since I couldn’t.”

Niall and Liam are good friends. Louis is glad Harry has them. But they’re not even going to have a final night together in a hotel. The night before in Arusha their camp is in a snake park, no opportunity even for an upgrade to a room. 

But they’ll have hotels on Zanzibar, one night in Stone Town, two nights on the northern beaches. Three nights of hotel rooms with noise-muffling walls and beds and privacy. And Harry, as the only person without a tentmate since they’re an odd number of passengers, will automatically be issued with a room to himself. 

He won’t have to share with Liam and Niall in a jointly paid upgrade. 

Harry will have a private hotel room.

For three nights.

“Zanzibar,” he declares.

Not having been privy to Louis’ thoughts and inside knowledge, Harry hums a questioning sound. His elbow balanced on the table, he’s absently stroking through Louis’ hair and Louis nearly loses his train of thought. Michelle never stroked his hair. She didn’t like his hair, always complained that it was too long and unkempt. She seemed to think he should drag a hairdryer with him to style it better, if he wouldn’t cut it off or at least learn more about gel and wax or whatever and make an effort. Why? He’s in the middle of nowhere for most of his life. No one gives a shit. He rarely even looks in mirrors while he’s on a trip, figuring Zayn will let him know if there’s anything too horrific going on with his appearance. 

If Michelle had played with his hair like this, with such gentle tenderness, he might have been more willing to compromise, at least when he was in Cape Town. 

But Michelle is gone, she’s history. Given how ancient the history already feels, perhaps it’s no surprise that she took up with someone else. Someone who no doubt styles his hair to perfection. And given what he feels like with Harry, the way they are together, he’s starting to wonder why it took her as long as it did. 

She was a habit for him. An excuse to stay in Africa, so he didn’t have to face thinking about going home. Why would he when both his career and his girlfriend were here? 

He hopes she’s happy with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is. She deserves that. She was nicer to Louis than he can justify in retrospect, and while he still wishes she’d broken up with him first, he can forgive her, he thinks, and wish her well. He’ll tell her that when he reaches Cape Town in April. He’ll tell them both that. 

“Louis.” Harry sounds impatient now. “What, about Zanzibar?”

Oh yes. He shuffles around on the seat so he can look up and gauge Harry’s reaction, even though it dislodges the lovely stroking. “We stay in hotels. Not tents.”

“Okay? That’ll be nice.”

“And you’ll get your own hotel room. To yourself. Just you.”

By his third reference, Harry gets it, and his eyes widen. “You mean....” He swallows hard, as though anticipation is making his mouth literally water. “You _are_ coming to Zanzibar, right?”

“I am. We’ll have a local guide in Stone Town, but I need to be there for the days on the beach, in case anyone needs anything.”

“I need something.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Whatever you need.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “You might regret being so generous.”

“Haz.” Louis twists so he’s facing Harry fully. “I want to do everything with you. Everything,” he emphasises, just in case Harry didn’t get it. “I’ve never, with—you know.” A man. “You’re it. And I want everything with you.”

Harry’s face floods with colour. His eyes blaze. “Me too. With you. And you say we have three nights?”

“With aircon, even. And en-suite bathrooms.”

“And thick walls. Fuck, Louis.”

“Indeed.”

“No, I mean—” Harry breaks off. “You mean it? Even that?”

“Definitely that. You’ve done it, right?”

“Yes. Both ways. So I can do whichever way you want it.”

Now isn’t the time to admit how much he’s been thinking about it, but he can say this much. “Is it all right if I want to try both?”

“You—really? You want me to....” Aware of the people around them, even though they’re mostly asleep and the roar of the engine probably drowns out their quiet conversation, Harry makes an awkward but explicitly clear motion with his hand.

“Yes,” Louis says. “I want you to....” He copies the gesture. “Very much I want that. But I want to also do it to you. If that’s okay.”

“Very okay, Lou. Fuck.” Harry looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Yes. We’ll need some stuff. I don’t have any. Didn’t expect—wasn’t planning to—I didn’t know there’d be _you.”_

And Louis hadn’t known there’d be Harry. “I’ll see what I can find when we get to Dar. It probably won’t be what you’re used to, since this is illegal here and all, but I’ll find something.”

“Good. Fuck.” Harry laughs a little unsteadily. “Sorry, I can’t stop saying that. I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t know—I didn’t think we could have it. _I_ could have it. With you.”

“I’m glad you want it.”

“I’m glad you want it too.” Harry laughs again, sounding raw. “And now I’m hard as fuck and we have another five hours on the road and we can’t do anything.”

Louis actually looks around, evaluating the risk. 

“Don’t. You know we can’t.” 

Even if they’re largely hidden from everyone else in the truck, the windows at the side go right down to seat level and they can be seen from the side of the road. It may be a small rural road, but the Tanzam Highway is the main thoroughfare from both Malawi and Zambia to Dar es Salaam and it’s not empty. 

He settles for curling back into Harry’s lap, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, and drifting through inappropriate, X-rated fantasies while Harry strokes his hair and holds his hand and occasionally presses little kisses against his temple.

*

The thing about their campsite in Iringa is that it’s like Ghanzi in Botswana. Not so much with the bushmen—there obviously aren’t any here in Tanzania—but with the fact the lights go out at half past ten. All the lights. 

It’s also cold, because they’re in the heart of the Southern Highlands, elevation over five thousand feet. Louis rarely sleeps well here. 

As he and Harry dance around each other in the kitchen, Louis making dinner and Harry putting together the cake mix along with bananas Louis bought from a roadside vendor so they can celebrate Renato’s fiftieth country tonight, he lets both facts drop. Doesn’t make a big deal of them, just slips them into the conversation about developments in the music industry (Louis knows nothing about streaming or its merits in relation to radio play but he learns a lot), the history of Tanzania (which used to be known as Tanganyika and was ruled by both the Germans and Brits before independence in the sixties), and bizarre archaic laws of the United Kingdom (including the fact it’s illegal to knock on someone’s door or ring their doorbell and run away before they open the door, which means teenage Louis could’ve been in a lot of trouble but luckily no one else in Doncaster knew that law either). 

He keeps dinner light-hearted and fun, encouraging everyone to unwind and cheer up after a very long day in the truck, aware that tomorrow will be even longer. He knows how easy it is for boredom to turn to stress and bad tempers and intolerance, so this is one of the evenings he works extra hard to keep spirits high. 

With Renato’s fiftieth country celebration, Veronique and Nora declare everyone has to tally up their own country list, so they go around the circle listing their numbers and favourite places they’ve ever been and where they definitely don’t want to visit again. Hilarious stories emerge under Louis’ careful guidance to ensure it doesn’t veer off down a negative turn, and by the time the lights go out people are relaxed and ready for bed. There isn’t a single groan when Louis reminds them of their four o’clock wakeup call, even when Duncan points out that four o’clock in Tanzania was three o’clock yesterday in Malawi. 

Leaving Liam to marshal his team to wash up, Louis and Harry brush their teeth at one of the sinks together, lit only by their headtorches. Harry spits and rinses, then leans towards Louis as he recaps his bottle of water. “It’s really dark out there,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low enough that only Louis can hear him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some people get confused about which tent they’re entering.”

Clever boy. Louis grins at him in the narrow strip of mirror behind the sink. “Do you think lost people might bring along their blankets for warmth?”

“I would expect them to. Although sharing body heat helps too, I’m told.”

Which is how Louis ends up in Harry’s tent with the two of them snuggled together beneath his fluffy blanket. Despite the chilly mountain air, it’s so warm that neither of them bothers with a shirt. They don’t dare do anything, the camp’s too silent, it would be too obvious, but after being forcibly separated by Zayn last night, pulling Harry close, knowing he’s here for the duration, Louis feels like he couldn’t be happier. 

“You’re nice to sleep with,” Harry whispers as they hover on the edge of dropping off. 

“You are too.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?”

Oh yes, this is pretty perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	34. Chapter 34

**Day 34 - Harry**

**Iringa to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania**

Harry hates like hell that the night he gets to sleep tucked up with Louis has to end so early. He set his alarm for three forty-five so Louis can leave before the others get up, and it feels like they’ve only just nodded off when it pulses low in his ear. 

He quickly silences it, then snatches his arm back under the covers. It’s icy out there. 

“I should carry you around with me in winter,” Louis says softly into the darkness. “You’re like a radiator.”

Despite Harry being the one meant to keep Louis warm, they slept with him cradled in Louis’ arms. Louis may be smaller than him, but Harry’s never felt safer. Happier. Can he spend the rest of his life right here, listening to Louis’ heartbeat, strong and steady beneath his cheek? “I think I’m kind of a warm person.”

“You’re certainly a hot person.” Louis slides his hand down Harry’s bare stomach, pausing when he reaches the top of his sleep pants. 

Harry wriggles backwards, pressing his bum against Louis, inviting him to continue.

Louis’ hand closes over him. He’s not fully hard, but it wouldn’t take much, especially feeling Louis’ own hardness against him. 

“Good morning,” Louis whispers.

“Good morning.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Lou.” Harry whimpers when Louis increases the pressure. “We can’t.”

“I know.”

“Want to, though.”

“How about you wait again,” Louis suggests, breath warm against Harry’s neck. “Two more days until Zanzibar.” 

He squeezes softly, and suddenly Harry is ready to go, just like that. It would be so easy, just a few jerks from Louis. They have time, and he could bite his lip and keep quiet.

But Louis wants him to wait again. 

“Want to be good,” Louis continues, squeezing again, “and wait for me? I liked you waiting before.”

Harry’s done orgasm denial in the context of a single night of teasing, but never as an ongoing challenge across multiple days. He’s not even sure why he told Louis in Zambia that he was waiting, just that it felt right and the hot flare in Louis’ eyes made him happy he did. And two days isn’t exactly much. The day after tomorrow. Of course he can wait. 

But waiting because Louis told him to makes it impossibly hard. 

Literally hard.

Now he wants to giggle but he doesn’t know how to tell Louis the joke because if he tries to talk he’s going to whine or whimper or maybe even scream. 

“’kay,” he whispers, then clamps his mouth shut, swallowing the sounds that want to burst from him as Louis lets go and pats him gently.

“Good boy.”

Oh fuck, Louis mustn’t say things like that if he wants Harry to wait.

*

Louis rides in the back again. 

Liam tells Harry during their hurried breakfast in the dark that he had a fantastic time yesterday with Zayn, that he’s never known anyone he could talk so freely with, and he’s the one who swings himself up into Louis’ seat before Louis even gets there. 

Harry watches Louis wordlessly check with Zayn that he’s all right with it and seemingly get a satisfactory response, because he beams around at everyone and herds them into the back with inordinate cheer for five o’clock in the morning. 

Even though there are empty seats beside Carlie and Alicia, he slips in beside Harry as though it’s where he belongs (he does), and when Zayn turns out the internal lights and gets back on the Tanzam Highway, he curls up against Harry and drops instantly into sleep.

Harry doesn’t sleep. He slept for more than four hours during the night without being consciously aware of Louis pressed against him and now he wants to savour it. He rearranges them on the seat with his back propped against the window so Louis can fit between his legs and be more comfortable, and watches a misty morning slowly dawn around them.

He’s the only one awake to see the magnificent mountain gorge they wind through, with its chocolate brown river gushing through the lush forests while fragments of low cloud tumble over ridges, clinging to green slopes. 

The mountains gradually give way to a wide valley where vast grassy bushlands are punctured by the most bizarre trees Harry’s ever seen. They look like they’re bloated, grey trunks bulging outwards with spindly little branches sticking out the top. 

“Baobabs,” Louis says.

“Hmm?”

“They’re called baobabs, those trees.” Louis blinks and rubs his eyes, which are almost painfully blue up close in the morning light. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” He wants to kiss the tip of Louis’ nose, it’s so cute and _right there_ —but other people are waking up around them. “Sleep well?”

“Excellently. You’re a good mattress.”

He loves the idea of being Louis’ mattress. “Thank you.”

Louis pats Harry’s chest and pulls up into a sitting position, straightening his clothing. “Did I miss the river?”

“The chocolate one?”

“It’s called the Great Ruaha River. Were you awake to see it? That gorge is one of my favourite parts of this trip.”

“Sorry. I should’ve woken you up. It was beautiful.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’ve seen it, many times. I’m really glad you did, though.”

“I did.” Unable (unwilling?) to stop himself, Harry reaches out to smooth the wilder side of Louis’ hair back against his head. It bounces back immediately.

Louis grimaces. “I’m a mess again, am I?”

“A cute mess.”

“Ugh. At least your curls go everywhere all the time. My hair’s meant to lie flat.”

Louis has too much energy for anything about him to be flat. “You’re more beautiful than the Great Ruaha River,” Harry says seriously, and Louis laughs.

“Keep thinking that, Harriet. You’re really good for my ego.”

“I’m good for lots of things.”

Just like that, Louis’ merriment dies. He drops his gaze to Harry’s mouth and then lower. “You still being good for me?”

“For you, Lou.”

Before Louis can reply, Rafiki’s steady engine noise changes and they start to slow down. 

“Baobab Valley,” Louis says unsteadily. “First stop of the day.”

Across the table from them, Niall pops up, hair even wilder than Louis’. “What’s happening? Where are we?” He looks out the window. “And what the fuck are those?”

“Baobab trees,” Harry says loftily, as if he’s well in the know. 

“C’mon, Niall, lad,” Louis says, “keep up.”

“I was sleeping.” He rubs his eyes as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Are those for fucking real?”

“Yes, they’re real, and we’re gonna go see them up close.” Louis slithers off the seat beside Harry to stand up in the aisle. “Oi, good morning, you lot! Welcome to Baobab Valley.”

It’s a fun stop, a chance for everyone to stretch their legs and get right up to the gigantic trees. Harry should be interested, he should be taking a thousand photos, but instead he leans against the wide swollen trunk of one of them and watches Louis dart around doing his job, making people laugh, obligingly posing for group selfies, teasing and sparkling. Liam snags him to do a piece to camera about baobab trees. Harry catches a bit about the bark being full of water and used for hydration by passing elephants, but mostly he lets Louis’ husky voice wash over him. 

He’s so happy he came to Africa. However this ends, Louis is worth it. 

“Haz, come over here! We’re all gonna hug this tree for Liam to video.”

Standing next to each other, holding hands, it takes twelve of them to span the base of the largest baobab. Harry stands between Niall and Louis, then drops to the ground when the circle breaks up. “Stay there hugging the tree, Lou,” he instructs, and it’s one of his favourite pictures he’s taken, Louis dwarfed by the ancient giant, deep in the heart of Africa. 

*

The day drags on as they continue east towards the coast. Lunch is sandwiches and bananas at the side of the road in front of an audience of enthralled cows and goats. They spend an hour crossing an open game park, and Louis sets everyone on animal-detection duty. They spot plenty of zebras and giraffes, antlered buck, even a couple of buffalo. 

The temperature rises as the truck descends towards sea level and to combat the irritated boredom that starts to set in, Louis gets some truck-wide games going. It’s not the same as yesterday, with the two of them snug in their own little world together on their seat, but it’s fun and Harry loves watching how hard Louis laughs, how his eyes crinkle up so you can barely see them and he literally shakes with laughter. And if he snaps some photos for his own use for later, well, he’s still wearing sunblock every day, so he’s allowed. 

After so many hours of anticipation, Dar es Salaam sneaks up on them. At first, little tin and brick houses start appearing between the trees, linked with dry dirt tracks that don’t immediately signal a big city. Then there’s a shiny silver and white factory and the buildings become more elaborate, although they’re still mixed in with thatched and tin-roofed shacks, and a gap between two little hills reveals buildings all the way to the horizon. 

Although it’s so humid that his thighs are sticking together and he needs two scarves to keep the sweat from pouring down his face, the landscape is far drier at the coast than it was high in the mountains. The grass looks faded and tired, the dirt roads scorched white instead of the rich red soil of further west, and Harry doesn’t recognise any trees but the plentiful palms.

Just like in the smaller towns and villages they’ve passed through, open markets spill out along the side of the road, mats piled high with brightly coloured shirts and shoes between mounds of tomatoes, avocados and other fruit and vegetables Harry’s never seen. Wooden tables nestle together beneath shade-giving umbrellas, bursting with toiletries or barrels filled with dried fish or ice cold drinks to refresh the crowds swarming every street.

Harry watches, fascinated, as they crawl along.

“Welcome to Dar es Salaam,” Louis calls down the truck. 

“We’re here already?” Niall checks his watch. “Why the hell did we have to get up at four if we’re here in mid-afternoon?”

“Traffic.” Louis gestures towards the front, where the narrow road ahead of them is jam-packed with vehicles of all descriptions. “Any later and we’d hit rush hour. As it is, our camp’s on the far side of town on the coast and it’ll take us several more hours to reach it.”

“So we don’t get to explore?” Carlie sounds disappointed. “I thought we’d get a couple of hours to walk around the city, like we did in Harare.”

“Dar’s a little different to Harare,” Louis tells her. “It’s not the safest city in the world, especially not for tourists. We don’t want any of you to be mugged or assaulted, so we just drive through so you can get a good look from a relatively safe environment—plus you get a great view from the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow.”

“A relatively safe environment?” Katrina asks.

“You’ll never be a hundred percent safe here, but you’re more protected in the truck than you would be in a car, for example, where the doors can easily be snatched open or the windows smashed.”

People pale and stop asking about exploring the city. Harry looks out on it, no longer marvelling. Instead, he feels uneasy. A group of tough-looking men meet his eyes through the window and he recoils against Louis.

“Haz?”

“Is it really that bad?” he asks. “What you were saying?”

Louis nods. “It can be. Especially for tourists, as I said. Most of you are white, so you’ll stand out for the colour of your skin alone, and it makes you a potential target. You’ll be perceived as having money—and while this isn’t a luxury tour, you guys still all have a lot more money than most people here. Money and items that you can be parted from. Like your cameras. Your phones. Even your clothes.” He kicks Harry’s expensive trainers. “Generally you won’t be assaulted, but you might be, especially the women, and the police can be as much of a problem as any criminal. There are ways to be relatively safe in this city, but none of you know them, so we prefer not to risk it. The price is that, on our tour, you don’t get to see much of Dar es Salaam other than from the truck and ferry.”

Ugh. Harry feels like he did in the shanty town in Cape Town, horribly out of place and intruding somewhere he has no right to be. There’s a lot to be analysed in this feeling, in the context and history of foreigners in Africa, but he doesn’t want to think about any of that right now. Instead, he asks Louis about his favourite things to do in Zanzibar and watches him laugh as he shares animated stories with everyone in the rear half of the truck, letting the teeming chaos of Dar es Salaam slide past the windows, unobserved.

Which is why it’s such a shock when Louis glances past him out the window and abruptly interrupts a story about the time all of his passengers were too wary to try out the seeds from the lipstick plant on the spice tour so he volunteered himself and they all told him he looked prettier than any of the girls. “Sorry, people, we’ll have to pick up tonight at dinner. I have to go now.”

“Go?” Harry looks out at the hectic crowds thronging the road. “Where are you going?”

“To buy our ferry tickets for tomorrow. Everyone happy with the seven-thirty ferry?”

“We’re at the ferry station?”

Louis shakes his head. “It’ll take too long for Zayn to take me all the way in at this time of day. We’re a few blocks away. I’ll just nip in for them and make my own way down to meet you at the campsite.”

“No,” Harry says.

Louis, already slipping out of the seat to head to the front of the truck and the cab, stops dead. “What do you mean, no?”

“You can’t.” 

“’Course I can. Haz—”

“No!” Harry knows he sounds hysterical and his voice is far too loud but he can’t help it. “You’re not going out there! Not after everything you told me. You can’t!”

“I’ll be fine—”

“You don’t _know_ that.” Why can’t he breathe properly? He looks at the frenzied crowd again, filled with potential robbers and assailants, and feels like he’s losing his mind.

Louis seems to sense that Harry’s not just trying to be troublesome, because he comes back to the seat and lays a small, warm hand over Harry’s. “Haz, love, I do this every time. I know how to be safe.”

“You’re white, though. You still stand out.”

“But I know what to do. And I know what not to do. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You can’t promise.” The fear Louis’ earlier words sparked that was distant and theoretical is suddenly a vivid threat, looming over Louis with alarming menace. Everyone out there feels like danger, even though he knows that’s not true. But Louis is so small and vulnerable to be alone amongst those aggressive hordes. Of course he’ll be a target. “We can get to our campsite later. No one will mind.”

Everyone is watching them, their expressions ranging from apprehension to outright alarm. “We don’t mind, Louis,” Veronique agrees, and the others nod.

“It’s fine,” Louis reassures them. He looks back at Harry and squeezes his hand. “I know how to be safe out there.” 

It doesn’t look like it’s possible to be safe out there. “Please. Don’t make me leave you here.”

“Harry, I have to.”

To Harry’s frustration, tears prick hotly at his eyes. “I know you do this all the time and I know you’ll be fine, but I won’t be, knowing that you’re out there. Let me come with you, then.” 

“You’ll make me less safe.”

It’s clear Louis isn’t going to budge and Harry’s creating too much of a scene already. “Fine,” he snaps, snatching his hand away and crossing his arms, as if somehow protecting his own body can help protect Louis’ when he’s out there all alone in the lawless pandemonium of downtown Dar es Salaam. “You go do your thing. Whatever.”

The truck’s already slowing and Louis pats his shoulder before standing up again. “I only want to protect you, love.”

Harry bites his lip so hard he tastes blood with the effort not to cry as Zayn pulls over and lets Louis off at the side of the road. He looks so small and vulnerable as they leave him behind and Harry can do nothing but whisper, “Me too.” 

*

It takes another two hours to reach the coast. Harry puts in his earbuds and picks the playlist he uses for running and lets the music take over his entire body. He can’t be here, in it, right now. He can’t leave any space for thought or he’ll explode from terror. He keeps his eyes shut and pretends he’s running along the river in Holmes Chapel.

Unfortunately he has to pay attention when they reach their campsite on the beach. They can upgrade to beach huts for only six American dollars, so of course Liam wants to. Since Harry was too distracted by Louis all day on the truck, he forgot to charge his stuff up for the ferry to Zanzibar tomorrow, so he should probably upgrade too. Before he can tell Liam to ask if they have a hut that sleeps three, he notices a sign on the reception desk, written in large red letters:

_“Beware of thugs on the beach._

_“Do not carry any valuables with you or leave anything unattended._

_“Do not walk on the beach alone or after dark.”_

Even here. Even on the outskirts of the city at a beach resort. This is a nice place. If they wanted more luxury than basic huts on the sand, they could upgrade to more lavish chalets further back, and the proprietor is busy extolling the virtues of the beachfront bar and restaurant that campers are also allowed to patronise. 

But they have to beware of thugs when walking the twenty or so metres from the protected bar area to the gated-off beach huts. 

And Louis is loose in this town.

“Can I have one with two beds?” he asks, interrupting Liam’s question about recommended local beers to try. “I’ll pay for two people.”

“Sure.” The proprietor beams at him. “Twelve dollars or two and a half thousand shillings.”

“I’ll pay in shillings, thanks.” When Louis gets back, Harry wants privacy to inspect every inch of him to ensure he’s unharmed. 

He hauls both his and Louis’ bags to the hut compound. 

“You won’t need his blanket,” Zayn tells him, apparently already updated by Liam about Harry’s intentions. “It won’t cool down during the night. Even your sleeping bag will be too much. Just take your sleep sheet.”

He tosses Louis’ sleep sheet down to Harry. It smells like Louis, even though it was laundered in Malawi and Louis didn’t use it last night. 

“Give him an hour,” Zayn says, watching the way Harry clutches it. “He’ll be here.”

“He’d better be.”

It’s a relief to strip off the drenched clothing he’s been sweating through all day and change into his swimming trunks. With forty-five minutes to go before sunset renders the beach too dangerous, everyone swarms down to the crashing waves. 

Harry jerks to a stop just as he enters the water. 

This is wrong.

This isn’t just any water. This is the Indian Ocean. It’s his first time seeing the real Indian Ocean and Louis fucking promised to _introduce_ him to it. Personally. 

The salt is a shock after the gentle freshwater of Lake Malawi. A wave smashes him into the coarse white sand and Harry gets up, dives into the next one, and screams. It helps a little, so he screams into the next one as well, and the one after that, shrieking out his frustrations until his throat is raw and he’s breathing more salt than air. 

*

He doesn’t want to help with dinner. Liam and Niall, writing at one of the picnic tables in the sand in front of the bar, are on truck cleaning and packing respectively, and Harry’s on washing up duty, but it’s the smallest group on cooking today, just Duncan and Carlie and two of the Koreans, and he can’t leave Zayn alone with them to get started. Zayn doesn’t even know what was planned for today. 

He thinks Zayn’s laughing at him as he erects Louis’ tables (he’s almost as efficient as Louis now) and hauls out his buckets and crates and containers. It’s potatoes with the last of their vegetables and chicken on the menu, as Harry recalls, and he can use up the final tomatoes with the avocados the ladies in Chitimba gave him for salad. 

It’s ready by half past eight.

Nearly two hours after sunset.

Four and a half hours since they dropped Louis off in the heart of the city.

Even Zayn no longer looks like this is normal.

“Told you I should’ve gone with him,” Harry mutters furiously over his food.

“What, so you could be missing now too?” Niall snaps back. 

“He’s not missing,” Zayn says firmly. “He’s just late. He’ll be here. He’ll get here.”

“Can’t we go look for him?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Where, Harry?”

“Just—anywhere.” He knows he’s being irrational. “We can’t just sit here eating like nothing’s wrong.”

But Liam’s right, there’s nowhere they can go to look. Louis could be anywhere within the enormous city. 

“Call him.” He looks at Zayn. “You have his number, right?”

Zayn looks sympathetic. “I also have his phone. He only took the bare minimum.”

“The bare minimum being enough cash to pay for all our tickets?” Harry’s voice rises. “And no phone? What if something happens? How’s he meant to let us know?”

“If something happens, the odds are that he’ll no longer be in possession of his phone.”

“Not a robbery. An accident. Or if he gets stuck somewhere. What if he needs help and he can’t contact us? He’s all alone out there, Zayn!”

“He’s memorised my number and he has coins for a phone sewn into his shorts.”

“He—what?”

“That’s why he’s wearing his denim shorts today, Harry, even though it’s so hot. Louis knows what he’s doing. We have contingency plans.”

“So why aren’t we hearing from him?”

Zayn slumps back. “I don't know.”

*

Dinner finishes.

Harry helps his group wash up.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Renato says when Harry’s hands shake too much to hold onto the cutlery he’s drying and forks and spoons scatter across the sand. He bends down to pick them up, then pats Harry’s shoulder. “He will come back.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will. Your friend is smart, he knows Africa. He will come, and he’ll enjoy your dinner.”

Harry thinks of the container of food set aside for Louis in the cab. That was him being optimistic and trusting in the universe to protect Louis and bring him home. He’s not so sure the universe is trustworthy, though. It’s not doing a very good job of proving itself.

Once the dishes are clean and he’s wiped down all the tables and put everything back where it belongs, it’s nearly ten. He finds Zayn tinkering with something in the engine. 

“All right, Harry?”

“What if he’s not back by morning?”

Zayn sighs and wipes his hands on a tattered piece of towelling. “He will be.”

“What if he’s not?”

“If he’s not, I’ll take you to Zanzibar myself, then come back and look for him.”

It isn’t fair of him, but Harry can’t help pushing. Tucking his knees beneath him on the wooden bench beside the fence, he asks, “How are you so calm?”

“Because it’s Louis,” Zayn says with more patience than Harry deserves. “Because he’s resourceful and clever and experienced. Because transport in this city isn’t dependable, and officials sometimes demand bribes, which requires a lot of negotiating, and Dar es Salaam’s not the den of iniquity you seem to think it is.”

“Louis said it wasn’t safe,” Harry mumbles, but then he catches Zayn’s eye. “Den of iniquity?”

Zayn laughs. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking here, but it feels like you’re imagining Louis being seized and sold off into slavery or something.”

“It happens.”

“And it happened here a lot in the past, yeah. True.” Zayn sits down beside him, the cloth held loosely in his hands. “But it’s unlikely. If he was robbed, they’d have to strip him to the skin to find all the ferry money, and the card he has is the company’s, and they’d be alerted if any unexpected charge was made on it. No one’s been in contact with me, so I don’t think that’s happened.”

“Strip him to the skin?” Harry pokes Zayn in the side. “You want me to think about robbers stripping Louis and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You seem somewhat partial to Louis’ body. Thought that might help distract you.”

“Not in this context!”

“No?”

“Definitely not.”

“Shame,” Zayn says lightly. “Could’ve sworn that was your plan for tonight.”

Harry flushes hotly. “Shh. Don’t say things like that.”

“No one’s around. They’re all at the bar.”

“It’s illegal here.”

“No one’s around,” Zayn repeats. “But I’m glad to hear you’re being safe with Louis. Be even more safe with him in Zanzibar, yeah? Nothing but platonic touches in public, and don’t be too obvious with the way you look at each other.”

Harry wants to snap that obviously he’ll be careful with Louis in Zanzibar, but Zayn is being nice, tolerant of Harry’s paranoia, and it feels reassuring that he trusts Louis in Harry’s hands. “You don’t, you know, mind?”

“Mind what?”

“Me and Lou. Being together.”

“Why should I mind?”

“Just—I know he’s not allowed to, and you could get into trouble for knowing he’s fraternising with a passenger and not reporting it.”

“Look, Harry.” Zayn swivels on the bench so he’s sitting astride, facing Harry, clearly contemplating his next words. “Listen to me. Louis’ my mate. He’s more than my mate, he’s like my brother. I love him, yeah? I’ve spent three years worrying like fuck about him and his shitty situation with his family and trying not to pry about why the hell he was with a woman he clearly didn’t love.”

Didn’t love?

“When we came back in December, he looked brittle, like he was dreading reaching Cape Town. I fully expected to hear he’d broken up with her when we started this trip, because he looked so much better. There was more life in him than I’d seen in him—fuck, ever. And it wasn’t because he’d made anything better with his family, because he hadn’t, and it wasn’t because he’d finally ended it with Michelle, because he hadn’t. It was because of you.”

Because of Harry?

“I won’t say I wasn’t worried at first, because I didn’t know you and I didn’t trust you, but I do now, mate. You’ve got him talking about his siblings and his mother, you helped him get through the news about Michelle, and you’ve got him thinking about the future.”

“Um, we’re not—”

“I’m not talking about a shared future.” Zayn’s dark eyes are quelling. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on between you, and I’m not fishing for information. But I know Louis’ been going through the motions for the last year or so. He’s bored with Africa, but any time I tried to suggest moving on somewhere else, upgrading, maybe, from the relentless overland grind, he’d shut me down. Now he tells me he’s looking at some of the worldwide companies.”

“But that’s because of Michelle. Because it’s over. Not because of me.”

“You didn’t know him before. He’d probably have changed companies after this Michelle shit, but he’d have stayed in Africa. He wouldn’t have felt confident enough to branch out. Louis doesn’t think too much of himself, believes he got this job by chance, solely because of Michelle, and that he’s not good enough for more. That no one would want him for more. You’ve changed that.”

Harry has? How? “Louis’ stronger than you think,” Harry points out. “And he’s really, really good at his job. He has amazing skills with people and organisation and leadership.”

“ _I_ know that. I watch him, day and night, back and forth across this continent. But a lot of it is a mask. Beneath it, he’s been closed down, barely alive. Once I got to know him, I realised how little he feels the cheer behind his smiles.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not true now.” Zayn cocks his head to the side. “I’ve learned more about the real person Louis is on this trip than in three years together. It’s a lot.”

Really? Louis has been that different to the way he normally is? And because of _Harry?_ “He said he talks all the time to you.”

“He chatters, sure. Mostly about inconsequential stuff. It took him a year to mention his mother had died, even longer to bring up his siblings. Even then I barely got two words about them. And whenever I tried to push, I’d just get bright jokes and laughter, so I didn’t. He’s not like that with you. He _talks_ to you. For real. I’ve been watching.”

It’s an awe-inspiring responsibility, if it’s true, if he’s really had such a substantial effect on Louis. He’s not sure how to even think about that. Instead, he says, “So he told you? About South America?”

Zayn nods. “I’m fucking proud of him.”

“Do you think maybe you might go with him?”

“I don’t know.” Zayn shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. “He didn’t ask me to.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. I’m pretty sure he does.”

Zayn flips around again to face the bamboo fence between them and the inky black waves roaring against the beach. “Your friend Liam thinks I should take my art more seriously.”

“But you do take it seriously,” Harry says, baffled. “It’s all you do when you’re not driving, and you exhibit and sell it across the continent. Not like the way Liam keeps his sketches secret and pretends he can’t draw most of the time.”

“Liam does that? But he has serious talent.”

“I wouldn’t know, never seen his stuff. He always says he’s not really artistic, that he’s the one among us with the business brain and he should leave the creative stuff to me and Niall.”

“But he helps you write.”

“He says he helps whip it into sellable shape.”

Zayn shakes his head, laughing softly. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve known Liam all my life and I’ve never seen a single drawing of his. I don’t even know if he _can_ draw.”

“He can. He needs to let loose a little bit, trust himself more and pay more attention to what’s actually there rather than what he thinks it should look like, but—” Zayn breaks off, swearing beneath his breath. “He wants to represent me. In London. Me and my Africa paintings. He thinks people would want them there and I should stop driving and focus solely on painting and get a website and do exhibitions and interviews and make a shit load of money from my art.”

Okay, wow, Harry should have seen that coming. “Do you want to do any of that?” he asks carefully.

“How can I?”

“What do you mean?”

“How’m I gonna go with Louis to South America if I’m in London?”

“Oi oiii! I’m baaaack!! Where is everyone?” 

Harry leaps off the bench. “Louis!”

He flies across the sandy courtyard, skidding to a halt at the last second when he realises he can’t hurl himself into Louis’ arms. Louis remembers at the same time and pulls back the arms he already had extended. 

“Louis!” Veronique has no such restrictions. She flings herself at him, knocking him off balance, and it’s only the fact that Nora and Yolanda have raced up onto his other side that keeps him from falling. 

He pulls them all into his arms, grinning as the others pour through the gap in the trees from the bar. “Hello, everyone! This is a nice welcome home.”

Even the guys join in the informal group hug around Louis, but Harry can’t just give him a quick squeeze and let him go. He slinks back, dropping onto another bench slightly out of reach of the lights, and fights the sobs that threaten to rip through his chest. 

Louis is safe.

He’s alive and he’s safe and he’s _here._

Zayn catches his eye from over by the truck. He’s smiling. Relieved.

What Harry’s feeling is so much more than relief.

“No, no,” Louis is saying, “nothing happened to me, I’m fine. But I bumped into an American couple who’d been whisked off to the slums and robbed of everything they had, the police threatened to arrest them, the woman wrenched her ankle and her boyfriend was panicking because they couldn’t fly home without their passports and had nowhere to stay tonight.”

Other people.

The bad things happened to other people.

Not Louis.

Sure enough, there’s a man and woman hovering in the shadows behind Louis. She has an old-fashioned wooden crutch, and he looks as battered as Harry feels. 

“Meet Annie and Ryan, everyone,” Louis cries.

Okay, Harry thinks. Okay, it’s fine, he’s fine, Louis’ fine, everything’s fine. But as Louis shepherds them down towards the truck and Zayn fetches the food Harry set aside for Louis and opens up a kitchen hatch to get bananas that were meant for breakfast to supplement it now it has to stretch for three, Harry can’t cope with the sudden crash of adrenalin. He rushes up to the bathrooms beyond the bar where his own dinner goes to waste. He’s shocky and trembling, his skin clammy, cold to the touch beneath the sweat of the sweltering evening, and it takes too long for him to feel able to get to his feet again and wash off his face. 

He has to buy water from the bar to rinse out his mouth. On impulse, he buys a Fanta Orange for himself and some Crème Soda for Louis, but he can’t make himself rejoin the noisy group that’s gathered around the truck, listening to Annie and Ryan share their traumatic tale while Louis supplements bits of his own role in it. Annie’s laughing now they’re safe and with friends, dramatically re-enacting parts of the story, although Ryan watches her the way Harry watches Louis. 

He must have been terrified for her. Terrified and helpless.

The way Harry felt all afternoon—but for no cause. His body doesn’t know how to react now. Everything’s fine. Louis is safe. The couple he rescued are now safe. 

Everything’s okay.

But if he had any doubts about what he feels for Louis, tonight eradicated them.

*

He’s not sure how much time passes before he hears his name.

“Harry,” Louis says again, coming closer. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Those fucking tears spark again. “I’m not,” Harry says fiercely. “I told you I wouldn’t be.”

Louis sits down beside him, a careful distance away. “Nothing happened to me.”

“Not this time. But it could. It could at any time, and it did to them, and you—you just—fuck.” He swipes furiously at the tears that won’t stop. “I wish I’d been with you, that’s all.”

“If you had, then it might have happened to us.”

“At least you wouldn’t have been alone.”

“I wasn’t alone, though,” Louis says. “I was coming home to you.”

That spikes through Harry’s gut, and he folds over on himself, gripping his knees to his chest to keep from tugging Louis into his arms. “I got us a hut.”

“Zayn told me.”

“You don’t have any choice.”

“That would be my choice. You know,” Louis’ laugh sounds a little ragged, “if I did.”

*

It takes a while for everyone to drift off to bed. Louis sits beside him at the picnic table, answering questions about what people need to pack for Zanzibar and drinking his Crème Soda, looking relaxed but alert. Harry watches him shamelessly, unwilling to take his eyes off him now he’s here and he’s Harry’s again. 

Eventually enough people have disappeared that it’s safe for them to head over towards the beach huts together. Louis’ given a tent to Annie and Ryan, and he checks on them along the way. “She’s sleeping,” Ryan says, unzipping the door to peek out. “Thank you again, Louis. We owe you, man.”

“Any time,” Louis says. “Well, hopefully never again, but, you know. Of course. I’m glad I ran into you.”

“We’d be on the street right now,” Ryan says, shaking his head, eyes hollow with horror. “But thanks to you, she’s safe. We’re both safe.”

“And we’ll get you home. Don’t worry. Zayn’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“Zayn?” Harry questions after they bid Ryan goodnight. “What’s he going to do?”

Louis leads the way down the beach towards the huts, sticking to the brightly lit sections. “He’ll take them to their embassy after he drops us at the ferry station tomorrow and help them contact home to get some money. They’ll be able to stay here with him until it’s all arranged and they can fly home.”

Harry unlocks the gate and ushers Louis through. “Wait, Zayn isn’t coming to Zanzibar with us?”

“No.” With a rueful smile, Louis double checks the gate after Harry locks it behind them. “Sorry, it pays to be extra careful. Don’t want anyone running off with you during the night.”

Harry tries to laugh. “The sign at reception warned about thugs on the beach. Thugs, Louis. Who even uses that word?”

“Dar es Salaam campgrounds, apparently. Which one’s us?”

“Over there. I swapped with Liam and Niall so we could be right next to the ablution block, so hopefully no one will see you.”

“Good thinking. Showers?”

“Definitely.” 

As they gather their shower stuff, Louis picks up their earlier conversation. “Zayn doesn’t come because he has to drive us to the ferry station and pick us up afterwards. On Zanzibar, we rent other transport to get us from Stone Town up to the northern beaches since we can’t take the truck across.”

A single bulb in the shower room casts everything into eerie shadow. The privacy doors only work on one of the three shower cubicles. “I’ll take one that doesn’t close,” Harry says, since there’s no question of sharing a shower this time on the edge of Tanzania’s largest metropolis.

He waits until Louis is secure behind his door before nipping into the cubicle next door. The water’s warmer than he’d like, but given he’d like ice cold, he was expecting to be disappointed. To his frustration, he drops his soap twice because his hands still haven’t stopped shaking. 

“You all right there, Haz?”

“’m fine.” But Louis is too far away. “Has Zayn ever been to Zanzibar?”

“Yeah, once,” Louis calls over the sound of drizzling water, and, yes, that’s better, hearing his voice. “I managed to persuade him to come last year when we were there over his birthday. Mine’s nineteen days before his and at least we’d been in Maun so we’d both been missing out on the Okavango, but I didn’t want him to be alone for his.”

“That was nice of you.” The water pressure’s shit, so Harry’s not sure if he’s getting all the soap out of his hair. Hopefully it’ll be better in the en-suite hotel bathroom Louis promised him in Zanzibar. 

“If I’m honest,” Louis clarifies, “the group on that tour weren’t very pleasant and I didn’t want to be stuck with them alone for four days. That’s what made him give in, helping me out with some troublesome characters.”

“Do you have a lot of those?”

“Not really.” Louis’ water shuts off. “Most people want to enjoy their holiday, you know what I mean? So they do their best to be nice and get on with everyone. But imagine four Michaels in a group of fifteen and you have that particular tour. None of them had the decency to get injured and drop out along the way either, I was stuck with them the entire route.”

Harry gives up on rinsing his hair and reaches for his towel. “I wonder how our Michael’s getting on. I hope he’s okay.”

“Yeah, he turned out mostly all right in the end.” Louis’ standing naked, but for a towel in his hand, when Harry steps out of his cubicle. He holds up the shorts he’d brought to change into. “I can’t dry off in this humidity enough to put these on.”

Harry was worried about that too. “It’s only a few feet. Just use our towels to get back?”

“You’re on!”

They burst into their hut, giggling and shushing each other at the same time. Harry snaps the bare bulb on. In the tiny space, it’s dazzling. 

They’re mere inches from each other. Naked. 

But it isn’t sex Harry wants from Louis.

Dropping his towel on the grass mat that covers most of the wooden floor, he cups Louis’ cheek and lifts his face to the light. Louis gazes up at him, eyes reflecting a thousand sparkles. 

“Haz?”

“You’re special to me,” Harry says. He has no idea how to say it any better without using words he can’t say. “You don’t know how much.”

Louis’ hands come up to cradle Harry’s face in return. “I was extra careful out there today. It’s why I found those two, because I was paying more attention than usual. All I could think was I had to get safely home to you.”

Home.

Their place of abode might change every night, but this is home, here with Louis right beside him on the edge of the Indian Ocean.

“Hey,” he says. 

“What?”

“You lied to me.”

“What? When did I lie to you?”

“In Cape Town. You said you’d personally introduce me to the Indian Ocean and I had to meet it all by myself this evening.”

“Oh.” Louis laughs softly, his hands clasping onto Harry’s and pulling them down between them. “Right, you did. I’m sorry about that. Did you swim?”

“I only realised right as I was about to dive in.”

“Naughty Harry. Diving in before you’d been properly introduced.”

Harry chuckles at Louis’ put-on posh accent and prods him gently back until his legs bump against one of the twin beds. “I was good in other ways, though. Like you told me.”

“Were you now?” Louis sits when Harry pushes him down. “No less than I’d expect from you, baby.”

Harry’s body still feels too traumatised to get turned on, but they have five hours before they have to leave for the ferry and it’s so hot he knows they won’t be able to sleep, and right now all he wants is to lose himself in Louis. “Wanna look at you, Lou,” he says, dropping to his knees on the mat. It prickles, but he doesn’t care. “Wanna look at all of you. Wanna touch you. Wanna lick you dry.”

“It’s too hot—”

“You just have to lie there. I’ll do all the work. Just—I need this. You. Like this.”

Louis searches his face, then he relaxes. “Okay. Anything you want, babe. All of me is yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	35. Chapter 35

**Day 35 - Louis**

**Dar es Salaam, Tanzania to Kendwa Beach, Zanzibar**

Harry’s unusually quiet on the sunrise ferry crossing to Zanzibar. Louis leans against him beside the rail as they watch the busy morning coast of Dar es Salaam glide by. “You okay, Haz?”

“Fine.” But the troubled frown creasing his brows doesn’t ease as he stares out at the passing city. Then he blinks hard and turns to look at Louis. “What about you?”

Happy to be leaving Dar behind him, if he’s honest. “I’m good. Looking forward to island life.” As the ferry rounds the point from the Kurasini Creek into the open ocean, he points towards the crowds spilling out of the low buildings between the palm trees, across the white beach and into the water, scattering across the bobbing boats. “That’s the fish market,” he says. “The fish is meant to be excellent there.”

“Don’t ever find out.” Harry’s voice bursts out low and tight. He reaches between them on the rail, clutches Louis’ hand hard. “Promise me.”

Louis will only head this way once more, and it’s an easy promise to make. “I promise, babe.” He turns their hands over, covering more of Harry’s hand with his. “I swear.”

Harry accepts that with a solemn nod, then turns back to the sparkling sea. A few feet along, Liam is filming Niall watching the coast of Africa disappear. Louis needs to remember that Zanzibar isn’t a holiday for Harry the way it is for him. He’s here for his own job, which will continue when they reach the island. He isn’t solely for Louis during the next four days. 

He gestures towards them with their linked hands. “You wanna take some pictures?”

“No.” Harry doesn’t even look. “Can we sit down?”

It’s a two-hour trip. Louis would happily stand beside the railing for as much of it as Harry desires, but he’s not opposed to sitting down so he doesn’t have to keep trying to balance on the gently rocking water. He finds some seats tucked in a corner offering relative privacy. They’re facing the water, he can’t see any cameras, so he tugs Harry down to rest his head on Louis’ shoulder. The rays of the rising sun warm them through the chilly breeze, and he can feel Harry’s tense muscles gradually soften. 

“Sleep, love,” he encourages. “I’ll wake you when Zanzibar’s within sight.”

It’s a peaceful crossing, not one of the more wild ones that Louis has endured in the past. The Indian Ocean is good to them, kind. Louis loses himself in the intense blue of the water. There’s no surfing here, at least not on the north-west coast, which is where Southern Skies tours stay. He’s heard about some good opportunities off the reef on the east coast, but he’s never been able to investigate. Now he never will.

Is there a lot of surfing in South America?

There certainly won’t be any in central Asia.

Perhaps he should give up on the idea of overlanding altogether and run off to be a surfer. He’s not bad at it. With practice, he could be good.

Silly daydreams. 

His stomach hurts deep inside. He shifts on the bench, tightening his arm around Harry. Harry, who’s going back to England next Saturday night. 

Harry, who’s never once asked Louis to go with him.

_You’re special to me_ , Harry said. 

_Promise me,_ Harry said.

But never, _Please come home to England with me._

What are they doing? They’re, what, dating? In Africa. Where it’s illegal. When they have less than ten days left together. 

There’s no future for them. Louis knows that. Every time he thinks about the future, this is what it comes down to. Harry’s going to London to be a lawyer. Louis couldn’t afford more than one night in a London hotel. He’s an overland guide, that’s what he does. Overlanding happens in farflung parts of the world, not downtown London. Even if Harry did ask, what could he say? 

This is all they have.

He should be grateful, he tells himself fiercely as a thin line of green and brown appears in the distance, breaking up the blue of sea and sky. He was drifting through life before Harry appeared, on the run from his past, from his present, from the truths hidden deep inside him. Harry woke him up, and it hasn’t been easy, being forced to see himself for what he’s become, but it was necessary. 

Just be grateful and happy and make the most of the gift of the next ten days.

Especially the next three nights of air-conditioned hotel rooms.

“Haz.” He squeezes Harry’s arm gently. “Zanzibar’s on the horizon. Wake up.”

*

Zanzibar.

Bright tropical islands with a dark history, a dizzying potpourri of Swahili, Arab, Indian and European heritage scattered from the twisting ancient lanes of Stone Town out to fragrant inland spice plantations, lined with powder white beaches and azure sea. It’s a struggling economy, reliant on industrious farmers and fishermen and vacationing wealthy tourists.

Louis always feels like he should be more excited than he is when he disembarks the ferry and sets foot upon the fabled exotic land. Somehow, the Zanzibar his mind conjures up seems far more alluring than the raucous hubbub that hits them the moment they step out of the port immigration building. 

“Come on,” he shouts, adding his voice to the racket. Good thing he’s loud. “This way, you lot, follow me. Across the street.”

Liam hangs back to deal with the stragglers—in this case, two of the Koreans and Katrina. Harry’s gathered up the younger women and Renato, literally holding his arm in front of them as if they were children while he checks it’s safe to cross. Between them, they keep everyone occupied while Louis scours the crowd for Abdullah, their local driver. He’s been Louis’ driver on Zanzibar for a couple of years now, very friendly and full of local info for the passengers, giving a Louis a welcome break from having to know things. Ah, there he is. 

He emits a sharp whistle to capture everyone’s attention. “Oi, listen up. This is Abdullah. Jambo, Abdullah.” He’s proud of his group when they echo the Swahili greeting he taught them in the truck yesterday. “He’s your Zayn and me today. He’ll drive us to our spice tour and then up to the northern beaches where we’ll spend the next two days, and his word is law, yeah? Listen to everything he tells you, follow his instructions and warnings, and feel free to bombard him with whatever questions you have.”

“So you’re one of us again, Louis?” Danny teases. 

“I am, I am. Just here as back up.”

Abdullah laughs, comfortably taking up the responsibility Louis has just laid down. “Jambo, everybody, and welcome to Zanzibar.”

Leaving Abdullah to launch into his introduction-to-Zanzibar patter, Louis shuffles back through the group until he’s beside Harry again. “I’m free,” he says into Harry’s ear. “All yours now.”

Harry snaps his gaze away from the sign board on the other side of the street where a group of men has gathered to read the pinned-up pages of morning news. “Why would you say something like that when we’re in public, Lou?”

Because now is when Louis commits himself. Whatever happens, he’s all in. Maybe this will be all they ever have, three tropical nights into which to squeeze a lifetime of belonging to each other. Maybe giving himself entirely will ultimately ruin him, but he wants this. 

And he’s giving it to himself. 

And to Harry. 

*

The bus Abdullah hires for them is luxurious in comparison to the truck, boasting blissful air-conditioning and tinted windows for protection from the sun. The high seat backs provide relative privacy, and Louis settles in comfortably beside Harry, who’s by the window so he can take pictures through the glass as they cross the island. With Niall and Alicia behind them and Liam on the other side of the aisle, he feels safe enough to wind his fingers around Harry’s left hand. 

Harry gives him a soft smile. “It’s nice having you as one of us.”

Louis’ never felt like one of the group before. He chances pressing a little kiss to the back of Harry’s hand. “It’s nice being with you.” He emphasises _you_ , and Harry’s eyes flare.

“How many hours until we get to the beach?”

“After lunch.” 

A little shudder ripples through Harry. “That’s too long.” 

It is. 

He didn’t know what to do for Harry last night. Harry laid him out on the bed and touched him with trembling, tender fingers. Reverent fingers. Fingers seeking reassurance of life, of survival, of preservation. Coming down from his own adrenalin high, Louis offered himself up, exposed and penitent, to whatever Harry wanted to do with him.

Harry traced shapes into his skin, lapped at trickles of sweat. The cloying heat inside the airless hut made everything feel like a mirage, shimmering just beyond contact. Louis’ desperation for more didn’t reach him. 

Louis could have pushed. Could have asked.

But he just lay there, letting Harry take what he needed.

He’s not feeling so patient now.

“You just have to be good for me for a few more hours,” he says, murmuring the words directly into Harry’s ear so no one can overhear. 

Harry didn’t come last night. He got Louis there eventually, building him up so gradually that when it happened it felt like a long gentle swell instead of a wild crashing wave. Louis didn’t have energy for more, and didn’t object when Harry pushed his hand away when he tried to reciprocate, reminding him that they hadn’t reached Zanzibar yet so he was still waiting. But now they’re here, that’s Zanzibar passing by outside the window, red dirt, dusty palm trees, purple bougainvillea vines and all, and it’s time. No more waiting.

Except there is more waiting. 

“You can do it, babe,” he whispers, taking advantage of a particularly sharp turn to press himself up against Harry’s body. “Do you know what I bought in Dar yesterday?”

“You got _stuff?”_

“I got _stuff.”_ Venturing into a part of Dar es Salaam he didn’t know is what led him to stumble upon Annie and Ryan, but he’s certainly not bringing that up right now. “So when we get there, we’re all prepared.”

Harry shudders again, whimpering a little, his hand slippery with sweat against Louis’, despite the aircon. “Can we do me first?” he asks urgently. “I won’t need much prep, and I just—I can’t—I need it. You. So badly, Lou.”

Louis was going to suggest the same. “Of course, darling.”

“Love it when you call me that.”

Louis knows. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, untangling his hand to squeeze Harry’s thigh, higher than is fair, but it’s fun to watch Harry flush and wriggle and dig his teeth into his lower lip until it turns white. “Gonna give you everything you need, and then I’m gonna give you more.” 

“Hate waiting.”

“You’re so good, Haz, waiting for me. I was so proud of you last night.”

“Yeah?”

“You promised you’d wait for Zanzibar and you kept your promise. So good, baby. I’m so proud.”

Harry’s smile is brighter than the equatorial sun outside. “You gonna give me a reward?”

“Only if you’re good for four more hours.”

Harry groans, and Louis is relieved Abdullah is answering questions over the bus’ microphone so nobody else notices. 

He pats Harry’s burning cheek. “You can do it. I know you can. You like being good for me, don’t you, darling?”

“For you.” Harry’s voice is barely there. “Just for you, Lou.”

*

They tumble out of the bus on the spice plantation into air thick with cinnamon and cloves, the oppressive heat of Stone Town tempered here by the chaotic jungle of plants surrounding them. 

“Pay attention, Haz,” Louis orders as they sort themselves out from the journey. “You’ll enjoy this.”

“I will?”

“You’re a cook. All the spices you use from little bottles back home? Here you’ll see where they originate, what they look like when they grow.”

Harry blinks slowly, taking in his surroundings. He’s more out of it than Louis expected. “Right,” he says, looking around. “Spices. Spice tour. That’s what we’re here for.”

“I’m looking forward to this,” Liam says beside them. He literally rubs his hands with anticipation, and Louis laughs. 

“Get your camera ready. It’s definitely worth recording.”

And it is. Abdullah introduces them to Ali, who’s the spice specialist. A proud Zanzibari, he’s only left the islands once to visit Dar es Salaam, pronounced himself horrified by the outside world, and has since devoted himself to only encountering it through the visiting tourists he shows around the plantation. He’s a riot, full of entertaining stories and dramatics, giving Liam plenty to film, especially when Niall strikes up an instant friendship with him. 

Harry throws himself into it with admirable intensity, scenting his hands with tart lemongrass leaves, interrogating Ali about the process of hand-pollinating vanilla flowers and the production process that turns the same peppercorns into different types of pepper. 

With Harry so distracted, Louis lurks in the background, succumbing to the temptation to take his own pictures on his phone. He catches Harry’s grin when he chews on a stick of cinnamon bark Ali cuts from a tree, his perplexed frown when Ali opens a round yellow fruit that looks like an apricot to see if anyone can identify its vivid black and red seed inside (nutmeg draped in bright mace, not that Louis ruins the surprise). He photographs Harry photographing cardamom pods, joining them down on his belly in the dirt, and leaning back to record the outline against the sky of the teenage boys scurrying up palm trees to bring down fresh coconuts for everyone to drink. 

To his delight, Harry eagerly volunteers to try out the lipstick plant, smearing the tiny seeds of achiote around his lips to turn them bright red and beautiful. 

“If you kissed me now,” Harry drops behind the group to say as they wander through a pineapple field, “everyone would know. They’d be able to see it on your lips.”

“Thank you, Harriet, that’s just what I needed to be thinking about.”

Harry’s red lips dance upwards. “If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Louis burns, and not from the fierce sun. “Look at the pineapple plants,” he says to change the subject. “Did you know each plant only grows a single pineapple?”

Harry gives him a look to say he knows exactly what Louis’ doing, but he grins with delight when he obediently looks. “They sit right on the top of the plant! I had no idea they grew like this. They’re crazy, Louis.”

And he’s off again, back to pepper Ali with questions about the best use of curry leaves and helping him dig up ginger and turmeric roots to taste. 

“This was the best thing you could’ve done for him,” Liam observes, dropping back from Niall and Alicia to walk beside Louis.

“Who?” 

Liam gives him a look that would in anyone else be a reproving roll of eyes. “H, Louis.”

“Oh.”

“He was in pieces yesterday. Bringing him here, distracting him with spices and something new to learn—it couldn’t have been better.”

He knows what Harry went through, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear about it. “Nothing like that’s ever happened before,” he says, knowing it’s an empty justification as he speaks. “I honestly thought I’d be back by sunset and everything would be fine.”

“I know.” 

They reach the clearing and Liam sits down beside him on a rough wooden bench in the corner beneath a spreading liquorice tree. They both watch Harry dance up to Ali and Abdullah to investigate the fruit laid out on the table. Louis knows he’ll recognise the pineapples, mangoes and oranges, but he can’t wait to see his reaction to some of the more exotic fare. 

“Are _you_ all right?” Liam asks.

Louis jerks away from Harry biting into a bright yellow piece of jackfruit and beaming. “Me? I’m fine, mate.” Other than nearly shredded from the effort of keeping himself from jumping Harry when he looks so pretty with natural lipstick on his lips and a crown woven from palm leaves and decorated with red hibiscus flowers perched on top of his curls. “Why?”

“Just thought I’d check. Make sure.”

Louis feels a wave of fondness for Harry’s best friend. “You’re a good man, Liam. Thank you.”

Liam goes curiously pink. “You’re Harry’s, so you’re one of us.”

He’s Harry’s. Louis’ sure he’s also going pink. He checks back on Harry, who is now trying out breadfruit with Niall while Alicia spits hers out in disgust. “You know I broke up with Michelle,” he says. It’s awkward, but he’s not sure if Harry’s told Liam and Niall, and he doesn’t want Liam to think badly of him. 

But Liam shows no surprise, only a gentle compassion. “Harry—well, he didn’t tell us, but the way he didn’t tell us gave us the impression that something like that had happened. Back in Botswana, right?”

Louis jerks a nod. “She was—” It shouldn’t hurt to say, but he still feels like a stupid idiot. “Cheating on me. For a while. Everyone on the circuit knew.”

“I’m sorry. Is that why you’ve been avoiding them?” Liam pulls a face at himself. “I mean, sorry if that’s too blunt, it’s none of my business. I’d just noticed that you weren’t hanging out with the kind of people you used to, during the first half of the trip, at our stops. I thought maybe it was just because you preferred to be with H instead, but—”

“Yeah.” Louis sends Harry two thumbs up when he gestures eagerly to the breadfruit he’s loading on a tray to bring around for the others to share. “It messed me up for a bit.”

“I can understand that.”

Niall sets off around the group in the opposite direction from Harry, brandishing a tray piled with chunks of mango and pineapple, while Alicia follows with pieces of starfruit. That’s Louis’ favourite. “Haz isn’t a rebound for me,” he says, suddenly needing Liam to know that. “It isn’t like that.” He swivels on the bench to face Liam, trying to get it said before Harry reaches them. “Yes, the timing’s shit, and I didn’t do anything with him while I was still with Michelle, but I’m not using him.”

“I know.” Liam sounds as though he means it. 

There’s so much else to say, like reassuring Liam that he has no intention of trying to snatch Harry away from the life he has planned, but Harry’s too close, so he just smiles instead, squeezing Liam’s shoulder as Harry reaches them.

“Lou, you have to try this! Then you need to tell me if you’d rather try the lemongrass tea with vanilla essence or the masala tea, which is cinnamon and ginger with cardamom pods.”

“Masala, please,” he orders, “but I think you’ll prefer the lemongrass and vanilla. Now stand still so I can take a picture of you looking so pretty with your crown.”

“You like it?” 

“I love it.”

Harry chatters nonstop as they head through an orchard of nutmeg trees to the local house where they’ll be served a lunch specially prepared to showcase the spices they’ve been learning about. Liam was right, Louis thinks, this was the perfect thing for Harry today to take his mind off the trauma of yesterday. He’s laughing and excited as he shares his new discoveries, and fuck but Louis loves him.

He loves him.

The knowledge, warm and certain, rises steadily through his body until he feels like he’s floating as he follows Harry out of the nutmeg grove down through the banana trees towards the house. 

“....jackfruit is in the mulberry and fig family,” Harry’s saying when Louis’ senses tune back into the outside world, “which I didn’t expect at all, and Ali told me that it can be used as a vegan meat replacement if you cook it before it’s ripe. It doesn’t have much protein, but he says it tastes really good.”

Unable to stop himself, Louis reaches for his hand. It smells like lemongrass and ginger and cinnamon, all at once, and for the rest of his life those scents are going to mean love, for Louis. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he says, pausing before they join the others inside the low brick house. 

“Oh, I am,” Harry says fervently. “Lou, you have no idea. And now we get to sample a local meal, and Ali said it’ll be a spiced pilau and cassava leaves cooked in coconut milk. Do you think they’ll tell me the recipes? You’ll have to have my octopus curry, though, because I don’t think I can eat that.”

“I’ll have it for you, don’t worry.” 

“And maybe neither of us should have the kachumbari. Ali said it’s mostly raw onions, and I want to—” Harry drops his voice to a whisper. “—kiss you a lot later. Soon now. So soon, Louis.”

“No kachumbari,” Louis confirms. “There’ll be fried sweet bananas for dessert.”

“Banana’s a good flavour.”

“Yeah.”

He’s become quite the fan of the flavour of bananas on Harry’s tongue. Add bananas to lemongrass, ginger and cinnamon.

*

It’s an hour’s drive from the spice plantation to the beach on the north coast where overland tours stay. This is the best beach, Abdullah explains as they drive, because unlike in other parts of the island the tide doesn’t go out very far so you can swim all through the day. “Why?” asks Harry, and Louis falls asleep to the sound of Abdullah’s answer about depth of the slopes off the beach.

He wakes as they pull up at the resort to find his head pillowed on Harry’s chest, the sound of his heart strong beneath Louis’ ear, and Harry’s hand stroking gently through his hair. 

“You passed out, babe,” Harry murmurs when he notices Louis’ awake. “You missed all the palm trees.”

Louis knows this road well. “Seen them before.” He’s too comfy to move, and a glance out the window shows they’re at the entrance, still a bit to go before they reach the reception area, so he snuggles back into Harry. “You’re a nice pillow.”

Harry hugs him tight. “You told me that before. I like being your pillow.” He trails his fingers over Louis’ mouth, sliding one between his lips, investigating. “I’m glad you slept. I know you didn’t last night, nor did you nap on the ferry like I did.”

Louis should feel dizzy from his lack of sleep, but the nap has revitalised him and adrenalin flickers through him at the thought of what’s about to happen. “I’m all energised up,” he declares, and Harry chuckles, chest rumbling against Louis’ ear. 

“You’re going to need it.” 

It’s here. Almost time. They’re rounding the driveway to stop at the reception. Their private room is minutes away. 

He catches a breath, holds it, then breathes out, trying to control it.

Harry squeezes him. “Me too, Lou.”

They file out with the others. Louis’ relieved he’s not in charge right now, that he can just lean against Harry and look half asleep while Abdullah sorts out the check-in process and distributes the keys with Liam’s help. Harry’s trembling too. Good. It helps to know that. 

Liam brings them their key. “You're on the far end. Niall and I are next door,” he says, “with Alicia next, then Oliver and Elise.”

In other words, Louis interprets, they’re as safe as Liam can make them. “Thanks.”

Liam grins. “I’ve got Niall for the rest of the day, H. You’re off duty.”

“You—” Harry pauses, examining Liam’s face. “We’re okay?” he checks. 

“All good.” Liam pats him on the arm, handing him the key. “Abdullah said there are restaurants on the beach for dinner. If we don’t see you there, we’ll catch you at breakfast.” Another pat, and he’s off with the keys to the Koreans, who look very excited to be here but not half as excited as Louis feels.

Since he’s given up on being in charge, he lets Harry figure out the route to their section of the resort, a line of thatched rooms between shady trees. They can’t see the beach from here, it’s further down beyond several more lines of rooms and the hotel restaurant, but Louis doesn’t give a shit about the beach or the view of it. He doesn’t care that his beloved ocean is lurking just beyond reach. What matters is Harry, who’s here, completely within his reach. 

“This way.” Harry’s shouldered both their bags, yet still has a free hand to angle Louis in the direction he wants him to go. “One more minute, Lou, almost there.”

First room, for the Kiwis. Second, Alicia’s. Third, Liam and Niall. And then, theirs, his and Harry’s, nestled against the bright bougainvillea bushes in the corner. Harry stops. Pulls the key out of his pocket. Turns it in the keyhole and extracts it. Then, instead of standing aside to let Louis enter, he pushes open the door and tosses the bags inside before turning back to Louis. Before Louis can speak, Harry sweeps him up off his feet. 

“What the hell? Put me down.”

“Nope.” With a beaming smile that’s smug as fuck, he carries Louis through the door. “I’m taking you to bed, our first time in our own bed, where we’re going to consummate this thing. Have to do it right.”

Who even says _consummate?_ “So you’re, what, carrying me over the threshold?” Louis stops thrashing as the thought sinks in. Fuck his pride if Harry’s thinking the same way he is about their time in Zanzibar as a significant bond.

Kicking the door closed behind them, Harry heads towards the two giant four-poster beds that dominate the room. “Which bed do you want?”

Louis scans the room. The walls of the building are thick, solid brick, so they probably don’t have to worry about being too loud unless they scream. And they can always close the wooden window shutters. “That one.” 

He points and Harry complies, laying him down delicately as though he’s made of precious gems before following him down, heavy and solid on top of him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” 

“Or _jambo_ , maybe, since we’re in Zanzibar.”

“Zanzibar,” Louis echoes. “We made it, Haz.”

For all his gentleness, Harry’s breathing fast. He’s still trembling. “Lou. I—I want you.”

_I love you_ , Louis thinks. “I want you too.”

“The stuff. Is it in your bag?”

“Inside my toiletry kit.” He buried it in the depths of the rucksack he packed for the Zanzibar excursion, hoping the rest of his toiletries would distract any potential searcher of his bag at customs from looking too closely. But no one opened his bag, nobody cared, and he’s here in bed with Harry about to make love with him. 

“I’ll get it,” Harry says, but when he moves, Louis grabs him.

“Wait. Kiss me first.”

Harry sinks down again, cupping both his hands around Louis’ face and bringing their mouths together. Louis was right, he tastes like bananas, sweet and fresh, with a hint of cinnamon. It’s so good Louis wants to cry. 

Harry’s hard against him. Poor boy hasn’t come for two and a half days, but there’s no pressure, no insistence. Instead, he kisses Louis like there’s no other agenda for the afternoon, taking his time to explore now that there’s no threat of passers-by or returning roommates and it’s not so hot they’re melting. Normally Louis doesn’t mind the heat of Africa, but he’s very grateful for the air-conditioning after dissolving away beneath Harry’s touch last night in Dar es Salam.

After an endless while, Harry lifts his head so he can gaze down into Louis’ eyes. His own are blown dark, glittering with need. “You doing okay?”

_I love you_ , Louis thinks. “You’re perfect, Harry. You know that?”

“No.” Harry solemnly shakes his head. “It’s you. You’re the perfect one. Just look at you.”

Louis has never felt beautiful in his life, not until this moment beneath Harry’s adoring eyes. “You were good for me,” he says, because it’s preferable to crying, even though his voice isn’t too steady. “You waited.”

“I did.” Harry wriggles a little, bringing their hard cocks into contact. “It wasn’t easy. Especially last night when you made all those little sounds after I finally pushed you over the edge. Thought I was gonna come untouched.” He rolls his hips with perfect pressure. “Never done that before you.”

Louis catches another burst of embarrassing sounds before too many escape. “Haz, baby, darling.” _I love you._ “I want you.”

“You still want to be the one inside me first?”

“Anyway you want it, love. Your choice. Your reward, to choose.”

“I wanted you in me. I still do, but when I look at you like this....” Dropping his head, he presses light kisses across Louis’ mouth. “I want to take you, just like this. Don’t want you to move. Just lie there and let me have you.”

“All yours.” _Always yours._ “Anything you want.”

It’s a lot, taking the passive role, just lying there and watching Harry pad across the room to root through his bag. Maybe he should feel scared. He’s never done this before. Harry rimming him on the island in Lake Malawi was the most anal play he’s experimented with, since Michelle was firmly against the idea and none of his earlier girlfriends showed any interest. It’s better that Harry’s doing him first. This way he’ll learn what he needs to do to make it good for Harry. 

“Are you nervous?” Harry asks as he returns to the bed. 

He drops the paper bag on the bed and casually strips off his t-shirt, shorts and underwear. He looks painfully hard already, and unexpectedly huge from Louis’ point of view of being about to have that push inside him. Instead of scaring him, the throb in his stomach fills him with anticipation. 

“I trust you,” he says. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

“I will.” Sitting down on the edge, Harry goes to work on Louis’ belt. “Let me take these off you.”

Soon Louis is as naked as Harry. He’s just as hard, despite coming last night. 

“Looks like you want this,” Harry comments, running a light finger tantalisingly over the already-leaking head. 

“Told you I do. I want to know what it’s like, having you inside me.”

“Have you done anything like this before?”

“Only what you did on the island.”

Harry smiles at the memory. “Want me to do that again?”

“Do I need to, like, clean up?”

“Only if you want to. I like the taste of you.”

Such a matter-of-fact sentence, yet the mere words spark a series of uncontrollable shudders through Louis. “Maybe a washcloth,” he says. Last time they’d been swimming, but today he’s been sweating for hours. “There’s one in my—”

“I saw it.” 

Harry’s back in seconds, washcloth warmed beneath the tap. Louis is ready for him, still on his back, legs spread, a pillow shoved beneath him to angle his hips up. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

It’s different this time, knowing where they’re heading. Harry takes his time, licking and nibbling, swirling his tongue around Louis’ entrance, holding out on breaching him until Louis’ begging for it. Louis instinctively tenses at the first press against his hole, then deliberately relaxes. This is Harry, and Louis wants him there. Wants him inside.

After being so restrained, Harry goes deep with the first thrust. Louis squeals.

Harry pulls out. “That okay?”

“It’s so fucking okay, Haz, get your tongue back inside me now. Now, damn it!”

He’s laughing as he returns his tongue to Louis’ hole, the vibration of it lighting Louis up. 

“Jesus Christ, Harry, I need more.”

Harry doesn’t listen, continuing with his tongue no matter what threats Louis hisses, laughing again when Louis kicks his heels against his back. 

“I’m gonna come, you little shit, before you even get in me.”

“None of that, Lou.” Harry surges up over him, bending down to kiss him the same way he’s been making out with Louis’ hole. “I had to wait,” he says between kisses, “for three bloody days. You can wait for three minutes.”

“I want more than three minutes, Harry. I want a lot more than three fucking minutes.”

“Then you’d better work on controlling yourself, don’t you think?”

But despite his warning, Louis hears the paper bag rustle. Good, at last. Harry’s finally getting a move on.

“Um,” Harry says.

What now? “What?”

“You got, uh, more aloe vera stuff? Instead of lube?”

Oh yeah, Louis forgot to explain amidst all the excitement last night. He takes a deep breath, clearing his head, grateful for the diversion from the desperation to come. “No lube in this country. It’s illegal. I thought Vaseline, but then that meant the condoms wouldn’t work. And I didn’t know if you’d be okay doing it without condoms, and I wanted to protect you, and I heard once somewhere that you could use aloe vera as emergency lube with condoms.” A Cosmo magazine, he thinks, one of Michelle’s. He had no idea glossy magazines like that gave such detailed sex advice these days. “So, yeah. More aloe. Don’t worry. It’s pure. I made sure.”

“Oh, honey.” It’s the first time Harry’s called him that. “Honey,” Harry says again, coming back for more kisses, “baby, you’re everything, you know that? You take care of me so well and I love—it means everything.”

_I love._ _I love, too_ , Louis thinks, heart thundering from the shock of those two little words. 

The aloe is warm from sitting in the trailer of the van all morning, baking in the sun. He gave it to Harry at the start of this trip to protect his scalded skin, and now Harry’s using it on him, dripping it over his hole to ease the way for his first penetration of Louis with his finger.

Despite himself, Louis’ muscles seize.

“Lou? It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here, it’s just me. You’re okay, yeah?”

He’s okay. It feels fucking weird, but good weird, possibly great weird. He just needs a moment to get used to it. “I’m okay.”

“Can I move?”

“Yes.” He wants to know how it feels. 

It feels good.

Fucking amazing, actually.

“More,” he gasps as his muscles relax and loosen. “I can’t wait much longer. Second one, now.”

“So bossy.” 

But Harry consents to his demand, and there’s no tightening this time. His hole’s fully on board with the plan, welcoming every bit of Harry it can get. 

“’m ready,” Louis announces before he disintegrates into a thousand pieces of fire and explodes. “Harry, please. I’m ready now.”

“I’m big, though. Need to stretch you—”

“Don’t care. I know. Want it. Want to feel it. Want you to stretch me open on your cock.”

Harry’s fingers stutter. “I’m not gonna have much control. I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”

He won’t. Louis’ certain of it. There’s not a cell in his body that will reject Harry’s body claiming his. “I’m relaxed. You can feel for yourself. No resistance.”

He wants this now. He knows what it feels like, he’s accustomed to a part of Harry buried inside him, and now he wants the real deal. All of it.

Harry withdraws. No! Wrong! 

“Haz—”

“Shh,” Harry soothes, “I’m just putting on the condom. Being safe, taking care of both of us. Give me a sec. I’m almost done.”

He wants to see, but it’s too hard to lift his head. “This position okay?”

“Yes.” Harry sounds sure. “I want to see your face. If it hurts, we can change—”

“It won’t hurt.”

“Decided that, did you, honey? Made up your mind and that’s just that?”

How can Harry joke at a time like this? “Yes. I’m in charge. Decisions.” His head’s swimming with desperation. “You felt, though, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Lou, I did.” Harry’s back, hot against Louis’ vibrating skin, lifting him, arranging another pillow, organising him for penetration. “I felt just how much your body wants me inside you. So greedy and needy and gorgeous for me, aren’t you?”

It doesn’t hurt. Just as Louis predicted. It’s big, gigantic compared to fingers, even Harry’s large fingers, and Louis wants to laugh, but he’s too busy opening up and letting Harry in. It’s like he was made for this, his insides shaped specifically for Harry’s cock, to welcome it in and hug it tight and warm and needy, so needy, so full, full of Harry, Harry moving, gently at first, then obeying Louis’ order of _harder_ , and it’s perfect, it’s everything, it’s Harry and him together, joined and combined and _I love you_ , he thinks but doesn’t say, tries not to say, possibly garbles it out amongst gasps and incoherent noises to urge Harry on, harder, more, faster, _can’t hold out_ , Harry says, maybe, or maybe it’s Louis, someone, Louis doesn’t care, it’s true for them both, and he doesn’t even need Harry’s hand on him because he’s already cresting the fucking wave of his life and everything goes sharp and white and maybe he screams.

*

They make it to dinner. They even make the beach before sunset, only just. It’s harder to walk than Louis expected, but every twinge is because Harry was inside him, feels like he still is, like he left part of himself behind, and Louis loves it. They make their way slowly down the wooden staircase that leads to the beach, wind through the palm trees, answer greetings called from a group enjoying drinks on loungers around the beach bar. Louis thinks it’s some of the older crew, but Southern Skies and tour leading and passengers feel a million miles away. 

“Want a drink?” Harry asks as they pass the bar. 

No. Louis wants to feel nothing but Harry. “I’m good. You?”

“’m perfect.”

So is Louis. Absolutely one hundred percent perfection.

With the sun sinking through fire into the ocean, they don’t need the protection of the little thatched shaders. Instead Louis guides Harry between them to the bank of white sand where it starts to slope down into the silver sea. “Come meet the Indian Ocean, Haz. Properly.”

It’s cool compared to the hot, still air, swirling welcome around their ankles. 

“Can’t go in too far with our clothes on. It gets deep fast.” Louis bends down, suppressing a wince, and twirls his hand through the water. “Indian Ocean, meet Harry Styles. Harry, the real Indian Ocean.”

Harry crouches down to copy his motion, kind of like a handshake with the water. “Hi, Indian Ocean. It’s nice to meet you properly.”

“We can explore more extensively tomorrow,” Louis tells him. “We can go on a snorkelling trip, or you can even dive if you want. I think Liam mentioned wanting to.”

They wade back to shore, drop onto the damp sand to watch the final moments of the sunset. 

“Wish I could hold you,” Harry says abruptly, just before the sun is gone. His voice sounds fierce, a little wild. “This is the most romantic moment of my life and I can’t— _fuck.”_

Louis’ fighting the same feeling. Instead of speaking, he lays his hand on the sand, down between their bodies where nobody could see unless they were right on top of them. Harry glances down, then he drops his hand down to join it, just the back of their wrists pressed together. 

_I love you,_ Louis thinks yet again. _I might not get to have you forever, but I have you right now, and I love you, Harry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	36. Chapter 36

**Day 36 - Harry**

**Kendwa Beach, Zanzibar**

Louis is beautiful when he’s asleep. 

He sleeps with a hint of smile on his face, corners of his mouth turned upwards. Does he always, or is that because of Harry? Because of yesterday? Because of them?

Harry bends over to kiss his cheek, just because he can. 

“Mmm.” Louis stirs, blue eyes fluttering open. “Morning, Haz.”

“Good morning.” 

“This is nice.” Louis wiggles closer. “I like waking up with you.”

Harry can’t think of anything better. Except, maybe.... “Can I give you a blowjob?”

“What, right now?”

“Yes. I wanted to wake you up with one, but didn’t know—we hadn’t discussed it before—if that would be okay.”

“Oh, darling, it’s very okay. Anytime you want.”

He wants Louis to call him _darling_ always. “Okay,” he says, and slithers under the covers. 

It doesn’t take Louis long at all, especially when Harry slides a spit-dampened finger between his cheeks, being careful in case he’s sore from yesterday, but intrigued to see if he’ll still like it. He swallows happily, then gets up on his knees between Louis’ legs as Louis lies there, chest heaving, looking gratifyingly blissed out. “Can I come on you, Lou?”

“Gimme a sec,” Louis groans. “Wanna watch you.”

Harry can wait. It’s fun to hold himself there at Louis’ command, reining his body in when it urgently pushes for more. He strokes himself casually, denying the need for harder, firmer, faster, until Louis’ eyes eventually flicker open. 

“So beautiful,” Louis murmurs, gazing up at him.

Louis is the beautiful one, golden and shining, splayed out and replete from Harry’s mouth. 

“Look how hard you are,” Louis continues. “You get that hard just from sucking me, Haz?”

“Yes.” Harry tightens his fist. “Can I come now, Lou? Can I?”

“You close?”

“Very.”

“What if I said to wait?”

_“Louis!”_

Louis’ soft laugh hurtles Harry right to the edge. “Just joking, darling. Come for me. Want your come all over me, want you to mark me everywhere as yours—”

Harry doesn’t hear anymore as he erupts.

*

They miss breakfast. By a lot. It’s after eleven when they finally sort themselves out enough to shower and pull some clothes on and head down to the beach. It lives up to every ideal Harry’s ever had about Zanzibar, with aquamarine water lapping gently against crisp white sand in both directions while palm trees wave in the breeze off the sea. This is where people come for honeymoons, and he can see why. 

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Louis murmurs beside him. 

Most of the others are on a diving and snorkelling trip, if Harry remembers rightly from the conversation with Liam over dinner last night. It sounded amazing, but he and Louis managed to opt out without needing to discuss it or making it too blatant. Hopefully. He knew he wasn’t going to want to share Louis this morning, and he doesn’t.

They wander along the water’s edge for a while, Harry trying to figure out how on earth to do justice to the exquisite beauty around him with his camera, until Louis taps him on the shoulder. “Up there, that’s the best place for coffee and lunch.”

Harry instantly forgets about the outdoor beauty as he follows Louis up to the small restaurant that’s mostly a big thatch roof over wooden chairs and tables placed directly on the sand. Louis’ shorts are tight around his hips, and after trying so hard not to look for most of the journey north, now Harry’s not only been allowed to look to his heart’s desire, but to touch and taste and explore....and to fuck. He was inside Louis yesterday. He still can’t believe it, how eager Louis was, how easily he opened up for Harry. Please let Louis not be too sore for them to do it again before leaving here. 

Surprisingly, Louis doesn’t seem to know the waiters. 

“You sure you’ve been here before?” Harry teases once their orders have been taken. “Or is it just a coincidence that nobody you know is on duty today?”

“Stella and Jeff both left at the end of last year.” Louis shrugs it off, but Harry’s looking closely enough to see a dull flush rise across his cheekbones. “This is my first time here since then, so I guess I have to get to know new people. Or maybe not, since I’ll only be back once more.”

“What do you normally do when you’re here?” Not wanting to risk difficult topics of conversation, Harry changes the subject. “I know you recommended going diving or snorkelling, but have you ever gone?”

“Snorkelling a few times. I have a friend with a small boat who’ll take me out if he doesn’t have any clients for the day. You have to go out to the islands for good snorkelling, because there’s nothing much to see off the coast here. It’s pretty cool.”

“Maybe we should see if he’s free tomorrow,” Harry suggests, “since we missed the group expedition today. We’ll have time before we leave for Stone Town, won’t we?”

“Yeah, should do. We have to leave at three, so I could organise something. Let me text him now.”

Harry’s coffee comes while Louis connects to the restaurant’s wireless, and as he’s downing it almost in a single grateful gulp, he realises Louis’ gone still. “Lou?”

“They wrote back to me,” Louis says, staring at his phone. “The company I contacted about South America.”

“What did they say?”

Louis swipes open the email, skims through it. “They want me. I have to do a formal interview over skype when I get to Nairobi, but someone I knew a couple years ago from here now works for them and she vouched for me and it seems like the job is mine if I want it. Whenever I want to start. Harry. Fuck.”

“That’s—that’s great, Lou. Isn’t it?”

Louis looks shellshocked. “I didn’t think—” He breaks off. “They really want me.” 

“Of course they do. You’re brilliant at your job and they’d be stupid not to.”

“I can go to South America.”

“That’s what you wanted. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Louis lifts his eyes from the phone to look out across the sea. “I didn’t think it would be this easy, though,” he says softly. 

Beneath the table, Harry gives his knee a squeeze.

*

After lunch they play in the waves. Louis shakes off his shock and shows off how much stronger than Harry he is in the water. They shove each other around as excuses to touch, splash about, and generally make a ruckus. It’s nothing but sheer, pure fun, and Harry loves it. He tries to think of it as a celebration for Louis, wanting to keep him laughing. Give him good memories to take to South America with him.

They swim out past the boats to float on their backs in the sun, floating so much easier in the salt than it was in the lake, then race each other back to shore to fly across the sand back to their bedroom and privacy when they can no longer keep their hands off each other.

This time it’s Harry’s turn for penetration. After all Louis’ insistence on hurrying and getting on with it when it was him, he draws it out until Harry’s shredded apart. Harry can’t come until Louis’ inside him, he rules, but then does everything in his power to force Harry to disobey.

Harry doesn’t.

But it’s close.

When Louis finally slides into him, Harry chokes on frantic little sobs. How is he supposed to live without this for the rest of his life? He never knew he was capable of feeling so....right. So complete.

He manages to hold out until Louis’ coming, then disintegrates.

*

When he wakes up again, he can’t find all his pieces. 

They’re scattered across Africa, maybe, and he’ll never get them back. 

He’ll never be wholly himself again, the person who came to Africa with no precognition that he wouldn’t survive the trip. 

“Please tell me I don’t have to go and do my job,” Louis’ fingers trace tired circles on Harry’s stomach. “I never want to move again.”

This evening they have to join the others for a sunset booze cruise since it’s the final night of tour for Carlie and the Koreans. Harry never even learned their names and they’re leaving already. 

“Are you saying I wore you out?” he tries to joke, rather than dwelling on how fast time is passing. “Too much for you, was I?”

Louis squeezes one of his nipples, making Harry yelp. “You were just perfect for me, Harriet. So fucking tight. I had no idea it could feel like that.”

Maybe it’s petty of Harry, but he’s fiercely pleased that no one else has ever been inside Louis and that Louis’ never fucked anyone like he’s fucked Harry. 

But that’s going to change. Louis will find other men in South America, now that he’s realised he has them as an option. Other men will discover what Louis is like inside, and Harry’s stomach lurches. Louis’ going to stop being his.

It’s Friday today. Next Friday, this’ll be their last day together. In the morning Zayn will drive them to Nairobi and that’ll be that. The end of him and Louis. 

“I’ll go warm up the shower,” he says, getting up. At least they have hot water here, even though it’s so salty that when he gets out he feels like he’s just left the sea and needs to jump in the shower, and the room being air-conditioned means they’re cool enough to appreciate the warmth. “Come join me when you’re able to move again.”

“Can’t,” Louis moans. “Can’t ever. Can’t move, Haz, come fetch me.”

He does, because it’s Louis, and holds him up beneath the soothing spray. When Louis still refuses to move, Harry squeezes out some soap and spreads it over his body. 

“Mm, nice,” Louis says into his neck. “I approve.”

It’s silly how pleasing Louis’ approval is. “I want to leave marks on you.” Harry nips at Louis’ jawline. “I know I can’t, not where anyone can see. But when we leave the beach, can I? Where they’ll be hidden by your shirt. Can I mark you?”

He feels Louis shiver. “Only if I can too.”

“Mark your skin?”

“Mark yours.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate. “And, just so you know, I like being bitten.”

Louis raises his head so he can look up into Harry’s eyes. “Oh, you do, do you?”

“I like it a lot.”

“How about being tied up?”

“I like that too.”

“Will you let me?”

“Tie me up?” Despite being exhausted, Harry’s cock is instantly interested.

“Ooh, you do like that.”

“Yeah, I do. And you can. Any time you want.”

“How about tonight? While we’re on the cruise, and having dinner with everyone, why don’t you think about what I might do with you tonight after I’ve tied you to the bed?”

How is Louis so absolutely perfect for him? It’s not _fair._ “Mm, yes.” It’s hard to form words right now, but Harry battles through, knowing consent is important.” “Yes, please. Yes, definitely, I want that.”

“Right, okay.” Louis’ eyes sparkle like the midday sun did on the sea. “That’ll get me through the next few hours, I think.”

“Kiss me first.”

He loves the way Louis kisses, full of confidence and demand one minute, then tender adoration the next. 

“Now rinse me off,” Louis orders imperiously when far too many minutes have passed and they’re going to have to run all the way to the boat. 

*

Despite Harry’s lack of interest in it, the boat is fun. Very different from their open cruise boat on the Zambezi, it’s adapted from an Arabic dhow, long and slender, with a single sail. It makes for great pictures, so Harry takes refuge behind his camera while he endures Louis becoming Tour Leader Louis again, no longer Harry’s Louis.

“You missed a great time diving today,” Niall informs him, handing over a drink that Harry doesn’t question the ingredients of before downing. “We went to Mnemba Island and we saw octopuses and stingrays, and about a dozen dolphins, H, you should have seen them. You’d have loved it.”

Theoretically, yes, that would be amazing to see. Nothing could’ve been a better day than the one he’d had, though. “Lou said he knows someone who can take us snorkelling tomorrow,” Harry tells him. Why can’t he find Louis amongst the group of passengers drinking and laughing on the other side of the boat? “Since he’s not qualified to dive.”

“But we’re going to Stone Town tomorrow.”

“Only in the afternoon.” There he is, teasing Nora and Katrina. Katrina’s blushing, while Nora looks like she wants to eat Louis. Sorry, Nora. Only Harry gets to do that.

For one more week.

Fuck.

Niall follows his gaze. “So, did you have a good day then? Did you actually do anything? Or did you just do Louis?”

“He did me, actually.” Harry appreciates having a friendship with a straight guy who doesn’t mind Harry talking like this. “But I did him yesterday, so....” He shrugs, as if it wasn’t cataclysmic. 

“Liam said Louis told him yesterday that he broke up with Michelle. That she cheated on him.”

Whoa, what? “Louis told him? When?”

"On the spice tour. When we were cutting up the fruit and they were sitting on that bench together, I think. I saw them talking seriously. He said Louis wanted us to know that he was free to be with you.” Niall pulls up his leg, resting his arms over his knee. “I was wondering. Did he find out at that elephant place?”

“When you thought he was cheating on Michelle with Lauren, you mean? Yes, Niall, Lauren actually told him Michelle had been cheating on him for a year.”

“A year? Fuck.”

“Yeah. And everyone on the circuit knew, which is why he wanted to avoid the other crews in Livingstone.”

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, that sucks. And he had no idea?”

“None.”

Niall shakes his head. “He doesn’t deserve that. It’s gonna make it tough for him out here for a while.”

“He’s leaving.” Harry knows he has no right to share Louis’ secrets, but suddenly he desperately needs to talk about it. “Don’t tell anyone, not even Li, but he’s going to South America. He’s doing the return trip to Cape Town, and that’s it. He got a potential job offer today.”

“South America?” 

“Yeah, to be a tour leader. Zayn wants to go with him.”

“Does Liam know?”

“I sort of said something the other day. Thought he already knew. He didn’t.”

“Ah.” Niall twists to look at Liam, who’s drinking at the front of the boat with Eric and Danny and Duncan. “That might explain a few things.”

“Why?” Harry glances back at Liam. “What have I missed?”

“Liam’s been flirting with Eric since we got here.”

“Eric?” Sure enough, Liam’s closer to him than he’d normally be comfortable with, his cheeks are rosy, and Eric looks mesmerised. “But what about Zayn?”

“Maybe Zayn broke the news about South America and Liam got mad?”

Harry should be paying more attention to his friends and not losing himself in Louis. “Is Li okay? Has he said anything? Has he talked to you at all about Zayn?”

“No,” Niall says heavily. “I keep trying to get him to talk, but you know what he’s like. I thought he really liked Zayn. But if Zayn’s going to fuck off to South America....”

“What’s the difference, though, whether it’s South America or Africa?” Harry asks. “He’s still not in England with Li.”

“And neither is Louis,” Niall observes. “Have you and Louis talked about it, how you’re going to manage the long distance thing?”

“We’re not.”

“Not talking about it?”

“Not managing it. Not planning to. Come Nairobi, it’s over.”

“No fucking way.”

Louis is talking to the Koreans now, and they’re all nodding and laughing as though there’s no language barrier. Louis’ gifted that way. “He—has reasons to avoid England, and obviously I’m going to be doing my course and then working, so I can’t go to him.” He transfers his attention to the glory of the setting sun, trying not to think about the way he watched it with Louis last night after Louis introduced him to the ocean. “There’s no point in continuing.”

He thinks he sounds very measured and accepting, but Niall’s eyebrows fly up. “You’re not even going to try? What the hell, Harry? You and Louis are—fuck, I’ve never seen another couple as in love as you two. You’re stupid over each other. And you’re just giving up next week and that’s it?”

“He’s not—it’s not like that,” Harry says uncomfortably, sliding his eyes to each side to make sure no one can hear them. “It’s just—he didn’t know he was bi, hasn’t ever done anything with a guy before. He’s experimenting, and I’m—”

“Letting him?” Niall’s voice is dangerous. 

“I’m not going to tie him down, all right?” No, Louis’ going to be doing that to him later tonight, but he can’t think about that right now. “He doesn’t plan to return to England and I can’t leave, so where does that leave us? With seven days left and then that’s it.”

“Hey, hey,” Niall says. His hand’s on Harry’s arm, which Harry hadn’t realised he was flinging around like a madman, nearly hurling his glass into the sea. “I get it, yeah? Listen to me, H. Listen. Have you talked to him? Are you sure he won’t consider coming to England?” 

“He’s about to take a job in South America, Niall.”

“Have you asked him, though, point blank?”

“Not exactly.”

“Ask him. At least ask him. Promise me you’ll do that.”

“I don’t want to pressure him.”

“It’s not pressuring just to ask. It’s called good communication.” Niall rolls his eyes. “How are the three of us so fucking bad at it?”

“You, too?” Harry runs through Niall’s romantic history in his mind and can’t find anything that immediately stands out. Normally Niall’s very clear with the girls he has flings with. Oh, but wait, last Harry paid attention, Niall was hanging around that American girl. What was her name again? “What, you and—” He scours the boat looking for her. 

“Alicia, yeah.”

“Where is she? Is she not here?”

“She got badly seasick on the way back from diving and couldn’t face another boat. Said she was going to bed and I should go out and enjoy myself.”

“Are you—like—have you—”

“I don’t think she likes me like that.” 

Harry hates the dejection in Niall’s voice. “So this isn’t one of your usuals?”

“I like her. A lot. Sleeping with her would mess me up.”

Damn. What’s Africa doing to them? This doesn’t happen in their world. He finds Liam again. Duncan and Danny have disappeared and he’s all cosied up with Eric now. Niall’s right, there’s definitely something going on there. Have they remembered how illegal it is here? What on earth is Liam thinking? Is he honestly mad at Zayn for choosing South America over him so he’s hooking up with Eric? That would be like—like—Harry being mad with Louis and seducing Renato, for fuck’s sake. How is that going to help anything? 

And is Niall truly falling in love for the first time in his life? Girls always want Niall. They’re drawn to his casual charisma and easy smile, enjoy him for what Harry’s been informed are truly sensational skills in bed, and then go on their way happily satisfied. That’s the way Niall likes it.

But not this time.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s ineffectual, but he doesn’t know how to make this better. 

Niall shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter. “Gives me something to write about, right?”

Writing. Harry’s done almost none of it recently. “We need to work on that.” 

“Yeah. Not right now, though. Make the most of your time with Louis. And talk to him, H.”

It’s too terrifying to think about, because he doesn’t want to hear Louis tell him he’s not enough. “I will.” 

*

They sit apart for dinner. It’s in another restaurant on the beach, the host full of delighted hugs for Louis, whose shoulders stiffen, and Harry notices his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. But he goes, when he’s led, to the head of the table with the younger women clustered around him, and they eagerly grab the surrounding seats. 

Harry ends up near the end of the long table with Yolanda, Oliver and Elise. They’re discussing the best outdoor adventure activities in New Zealand and that’s somewhere he’d like to go, so he forces himself to pay attention and ask relevant questions, and by the end of dinner he’s decided that for Niall’s next album, assuming they can work it, they should go to New Zealand to write it. 

Maybe they have overland guides in New Zealand. Yolanda did a short overland tour in the outback of Australia, so they definitely have them there. Louis could maybe check that part of the world out after South America and they could link up and—and what? Break Harry’s heart all over again?

Talk to Louis, Niall said. 

Okay.

People leave the restaurant gradually, in twos and threes, the drunker ones staying to drink more. Niall goes early, figuring he might as well go to bed since Alicia has. Liam and Eric disappear together and Harry hopes Liam’s not about to make a terrible mistake. But he wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes tonight or leave Eric’s side, so Harry didn’t get a chance to make him think twice. 

Louis’ attention is constantly monopolised, since apparently those wretched girls feel a need to describe to him every single fucking fish they saw under the sea. But Harry isn’t going anywhere, even when he’s left alone at the end of the table, moodily swirling around the local beer he thought he’d try but hasn’t liked much. 

Louis keeps glancing at him through his fan club. It’s all the girls now, even ones Harry expected better from. He probably shouldn’t blame Carlie, though. This is her final night in Louis’ company, no wonder she doesn’t want to leave. The Koreans are hanging around too, gazing at Louis in happy rapture. 

Harry gets it, he does.

And this is Louis’ job.

Which he’s so fucking good at that South America is eager to snatch him up.

Okay. If he’s going to talk to Louis about England, then he needs to be in a better frame of mind. Not full of hostility and resentment and jealousy. Kicking back his chair, he stands up and swallows the last of his beer. “Goodnight, everyone. Carlie, have a great time learning to dive here and climbing Kilimanjaro.”

“Harry!” She’s had more than a shitty local beer and squeals as she dashes over to hug him. “Good luck with the album, I can’t wait to hear what you come up with. I’ve followed Niall and Liam, so I’ll buy it when it comes out. And who knows, maybe I’ll catch you on tour somewhere.”

“Who knows.” She’s a good, nice person, he reminds himself when she kisses him. She doesn’t know that he wants no one to kiss him but Louis. He extricates himself from her and gives an awkward wave to the Koreans. He should have at least learned how to say goodbye in their language. But they beam happily regardless and wave back. 

“Goodnight, Harry,” Nora calls, and Veronique and Katrina echo her. So does Renato, who Harry hadn’t spotted in the corner, hidden by the Koreans. 

“Goodnight,” he calls back, sidling towards the beach. “Sleep well. See you tomorrow.”

“Night, Haz.” Louis catches his eye. His eyebrows raise infinitesimally, just enough for Harry to see. 

Harry tries to indicate with his own that he’ll be waiting outside and Louis should find him. “See you, Lou.”

The waves are louder than during the day. He slips his shoes off, enjoying the feel of the cool evening sand, and wanders towards the water. It’s inky black, no bright aqua glow at night. He’s near the equator, he thinks, on the far side of Africa, on an island in the Indian Ocean. It doesn’t feel real. 

Nor does the fact that he found the man he loves and is about to lose him.

Talk to him, Niall said. 

Okay, fine.

*

It’s not long before he hears Louis’ voice. He’s walking back with the girls, but Harry hears him say he’s going to have a quick cigarette before bed.

“You smoke, Louis?” one of them cries. “We didn’t know that!”

“I’m trying to quit. Only indulge when I’m on holiday.”

The reminder that Zanzibar is technically time off for Louis effectively ensures they say goodnight and head down along the beach towards home, leaving Louis in peace. 

“Hey,” he says, stopping a few feet from Harry, not much more than a dark shape against the brightness of the restaurant in the distance behind him. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Harry’s proud of how well the meditation breathing he learned last year worked to help him come down from his petty tantrum. “You were working, I get it.”

“I didn’t mean to abandon you both on the boat and for dinner.”

“Louis.” Reaching for Louis’ hand, Harry tugs him down onto the sand beside him. “It really is fine. It’s better we’re not together too much in public anyway. Distance is probably wise.”

“Yeah.” The word comes out on a sigh, low and weary. “Sucks, though.”

“But in private, we get to suck each other, so.” 

As intended, Louis giggles. “We do, we do.” But he sobers too soon. “Thanks for not being mad.”

“I respect your job.” He does. “In fact, I’ve been doing something you taught me.”

“What’s that?”

“Looking at the stars. Scorpius and the Southern Cross are gone.”

“Left behind in the south.”

Harry pulls on the hand he hasn’t let go until they’re both lying flat on their backs. “Look,” he points. “Orion’s right overhead now. But we’re not far enough north to see the north star yet.”

“We haven’t reached the equator.”

“Do you know how far it is?”

“A few hundred miles, three or four. Not sure exactly, sorry. We have a tour that crosses the equator, the one to see the gorillas in Uganda, but I’ve never been on it. Now I guess I never will.”

“The equator crosses South America too, I think.” Harry strains for childhood geography class memories. “Somewhere near the top of Brazil?” 

“Yeah? Makes sense that it would. So I’ll still be in the southern hemisphere, at least.”

“Same stars,” Harry says.

“Yeah.” Wriggling a little closer on the sand, Louis sits up again. Their hands fall apart, but when Harry sits up too, their shoulders press together. “Same stars. The northern stars would probably be strange to me now, to be honest. I was never the best at paying attention to them in England.”

England.

Here’s an opening. 

He tries to keep his voice steady and relaxed. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

“Back?”

“To England.”

They’re so close he can feel Louis tense. “What is there for me in England?”

It hurts so much Harry can’t breathe for a moment. 

Right, then. 

Just in case he’d wondered if he could be something Louis valued. 

He isn’t. 

“Your family,” he manages to get out. “Your sisters. The twins.”

“They won’t even remember me,” Louis scoffs. Reaching forward to pick up a stick, he shifts in the sand so they’re no longer touching when he straightens. “The twins were seven, Trix was five. Even Jessie was only ten.” 

“What about Amy?” She’s Louis’ twin. Aren’t twins meant to have some kind of psychic bond? How can Louis do this to her?

“Amy’s fine. She has a fiancé. She became a teacher instead of me. She has a good life.”

“But she doesn’t have you.”

Louis shrugs carelessly. “Don’t think it matters.”

It does, Harry thinks fiercely. It does. It does. “Maybe you should write to her, on Instagram. At least tell her you’re alive. She’d want to know that.”

The stick Louis is holding snaps. “I’m sure she thinks good riddance. She wouldn’t want me complicating things again.”

Harry isn’t Amy and he has no idea how she feels about losing her twin brother, but he can’t imagine anyone ever thinking good riddance about Louis. “You don’t know that she feels like that,” he says. “Maybe you should ask her. Maybe you should give her a chance. A choice. Don’t make the decision for both of you.”

“She doesn’t want me,” Louis says decisively. Standing up, he tosses the stick into the waves. “Come on. We have plans for tonight—unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Harry doesn’t feel very sexy right now, in fact he feels distinctly nauseous. But they have two nights left with a hotel bed and privacy and he isn’t going to waste the tiny sliver of Louis’ life he’s allowed to share.

“Definitely not.” He scrambles up, trips over nothing in the sand. “Race you back, Lou.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	37. Chapter 37

**Day 37 - Louis**

**Kendwa Beach to Stone Town, Zanzibar**

The road hovers between blinding desert and wild ocean. She’s driving too fast; she always did. The one place she was less responsible than he. 

Her hair flickers in and out, the long tresses from childhood vanishing into her pixie cut from college, flashing into the sophisticated bob he’s seen on her Instagram, before swooshing out long again. He doesn’t know which Amy he’s looking at. 

It doesn’t matter, though. She knows who he is.

“He doesn’t want you either,” she says matter-of-factly, staring him down instead of watching the road scream past. “You should have known that, boo. You’re just as disappointing a boyfriend as you were a brother. A son. Always a letdown. Such a shame, because he’s a good one. But then so were we, and you had no problem throwing us away. Now you can feel what it’s like.”

Beside him, the door blows open when she glances at it.

“Too bad, Louis. We loved you once. But you weren’t enough. Not for us and not for him.”

Before he can grab anything he’s beneath the waves, black and vicious, sucking him down into—

“Lou! Lou, wake up, you’re okay. Louis, please. Wake up.”

“Ha-Haz?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”

He isn’t drowning. Not in the sea, at least. He’s in bed with Harry in Zanzibar and Amy is far away in England. 

“Can I put the light on? Do you need some water?”

“No.” He can’t see Harry’s face right now. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to wake you, sorry.”

“You were having a nightmare.” Harry strokes back damp hair that’s clinging to his face, drenched with the sweat his dream worked up. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah.” He wants to jerk away, flee to the bathroom, shower away the sweat and the tears that have menaced him since the beach. But he’s not sure he’d be able to come back to bed. 

Instead, he twists the rest of the way onto his back, trying to breathe, focusing on breathing out instead of yielding to the shuddering inhales his body’s trying for. He learned about that once in drama class, about how mimicking the way you repeatedly exhale when you laugh can literally change your way of being and vice versa. He remembers how easy it was to artificially get to the point of tears just by taking lots of quick little breaths in. It’s not quite as easy to laugh them away when every time his body eases, his mind replays that devastating moment.

_What is there for me in England? Your family._

Not, _me_. Not, _a chance for us._

He gave Harry the biggest, most inviting opening possible—but Harry didn’t take it, kept blathering on about sisters and the twins as if Louis doesn’t fucking know they’re there, but didn’t mention the fact that he’s going back to England in a week. 

What right does Harry have to interfere with his family when he doesn’t even care that Louis’ fucking off to South America? He looked so happy when he heard about the job offer. Probably relieved that Louis had a place to go. Maybe he’s been worried that Louis might try to sponge off him in London, if he couldn’t get another job after the return trip to Cape Town. He knows Louis needs to get out of Africa and what if he—

“Hey.” Harry’s voice rumbles against him and he wants to hide away in it. “You’re okay, honey, I promise. You’re safe, we’re okay.”

He needs to stop worrying Harry. Holding his breath entirely helps for a bit. His pulse throbs as he starts to run out of air and it’s distracting enough to jolt him out of the stranglehold of distress. “Sorry,” he says again. 

Harry’s still hovering over him, trying to give a comfort Louis doesn’t feel capable of accepting. “What do you need, Lou?”

 _You._ “Maybe some water after all.”

“Of course.” 

Harry scrambles off the bed, leaving chilled, empty air behind him. He needs to get used to this, Louis reminds himself. He won’t have a Harry to keep him warm in South America. 

“Here.” Harry twists off the lid and hands him a bottle. 

The water helps, silky against his raw throat. It feels like he was screaming. Or....

From Harry’s cock, he realises belatedly. He’d taken advantage of Harry’s tied-down helplessness to experiment with deepthroating. He’s not very good, in fact he’s woeful, especially in comparison to Harry, who seems to have no gag reflex and an endless capacity to swallow, but Harry didn’t seem to mind. 

Louis’ going to miss sex with Harry. 

“Lou?” Harry’s hand pats his shoulder hesitantly. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He realises too late that Harry can’t see his attempt at a reassuring smile. Probably a good thing. “Thank you, Haz. Do you know what time it is?”

Harry rolls over to reach for his phone on the bedside table. “It’s four-thirty. We still have several hours to sleep.”

“Or do other things.”

Harry rolls back. “You want to? What do you want, Lou? Anything.”

On one hand, the very thought of Harry hurts. On the other, they have only one more night in a decent bed together after this and he shouldn’t let future heartbreak ruin what he has right now. Harry is his for seven and a half more days.

“Your mouth,” he decides. 

*

Snorkelling with Harry is fun. It’s more fun than Louis has ever had in the sea without surfing. Harry’s eyes behind the goggles react with astonishment and delight to everything they discover on the reef, and Louis has to keep surfacing to laugh. 

It helps that Tyler, who takes them out, doesn’t seem to have heard about Michelle. He’s exactly the same Tyler as ever, full of jokes and smart comments. He gets Harry’s sense of humour immediately and turns matching him into a competition, which Harry loves. 

Louis has given him this, this glorious morning in the Indian Ocean, full of dazzling happiness. Harry will always have this memory, and he’ll have it because of Louis. 

As they drift back to shore, Harry leans against Louis’ shoulder. “I know why you love the ocean.”

“Yeah?”

“You belong out here, Lou. I haven’t seen you surf, but I can imagine it. Imagine you on the waves. They’re the same colour as your eyes.”

Louis knows he has blue eyes, but he can’t imagine they come close to matching the sparkling splendour around them. “Maybe I should throw over South America and learn how to teach diving in Thailand after all,” he jokes.

Harry doesn’t smile. “It would suit you. Plus, it’s nice and warm in Thailand. You’d like that.”

It’s rarely warm in England. Although Harry is warm, and he’s going to be in England. 

*

The return drive south to Stone Town doesn’t take nearly long enough, in Louis’ opinion. This time Harry’s the one who curls up in Louis’ arms, worn out from frolicking in the sea and sun all morning. They’re in the back corner of the bus, no one paying any attention to them because Abdullah is regaling them with stories of Zanzibar’s history as he drives, and Louis tries not to mentally count down the seconds. It’s Saturday afternoon. This time next week they’ll be in Nairobi and everything will be over. 

He can’t have a meltdown about it. Not yet. Next weekend, when Harry’s gone. After he’s waved Harry goodbye at the airport, or however they decide to part. Then. Then he can go back to his hotel room in the heart of Nairobi and he grants himself, in advance, full permission to go to pieces as pathetically as he needs to. He just has to hold on until then, be strong for Harry, enjoy Harry, take care of Harry. 

This magnificent boy who exploded into his life and changed everything.

“I love you,” he whispers into damp, sweaty curls. 

“Mhm?” Harry shifts against him. “Lou? D’ya say s’thing?”

“No, darling. Keep sleeping. You’re fine.”

“’kay.” Harry mumbles something else, ending in “you” or “Lou”, Louis can’t be certain. He’s smiling in his sleep, so it can’t be anything to worry about. 

He settles Harry more comfortably against his chest, and slowly counts his breaths so he doesn’t cry. 

*

Stone Town is mayhem. 

Louis is glad for the distraction, relieved to slip into the chaos of checking everyone into their hotel for the night, and dispensing sightseeing advice and dinner recommendations. It’s easier to be Tour Leader Louis right now, just until he stops feeling so unexpectedly raw. 

Abdullah’s running a walking tour of the city in the morning, which Louis encourages his charges to take advantage of. It’s the safest way to explore Stone Town, he tells the women, who are clamouring for clarity on how dangerous it is in comparison to Dar es Salaam. Theoretically, they should be fine, but every so often a tourist is silly and it ends badly, and Louis’ instructions from the company are to ensure his passengers stay in groups and look out for each other while visiting here. 

“Are you coming, Louis?” Nora asks. She’s such a pretty girl, but he’s over the way she keeps trying to give him sultry gazes from beneath her lashes. Has she really not twigged about him and Harry yet? 

“I’ve seen plenty of Stone Town before, love.”

Harry, who’s slumped on a sofa between Liam and Niall across the room, still half asleep, snaps his head up. No sultry gaze there. Quite the opposite. Louis didn’t know Harry could look so cold. What the hell?

Harry’s eyes narrow. He glances at Nora, then back at Louis with clear outrage. Does he honestly think Louis is, what, flirting with nineteen-year-old Nora? With one of his _passengers?_

Nora doesn’t help matters, reaching out to run an inappropriate hand down Louis’ arm, still simpering up at him. Funny how cuddles with Hayley or Rachel didn’t feel uncomfortable, but this fragment of touch does. He snatches his arm away. “You’ll want to put on a less revealing shirt,” he advises. “Stone Town is very conservative, it’s not like it was up at the beach. All of you.” He raises his voice. “Shoulders and knees covered, please, and nothing tight. It’s important to respect the local culture while we’re here.”

“So I need to change?” Veronique sticks out a hip to strike what he imagines is meant to be a sexy pose in her short white skirt and frilly top knotted between her breasts. 

“Definitely, love.”

Harry’s head shoots up again. Does he really think Louis is flirting? Louis is a professional, damn it, even if his behaviour with Harry has been anything but. 

“I didn’t bring anything else clean,” Veronique wails. “I didn’t know we had to.”

Normally Louis would do a group presentation during dinner in Dar es Salaam about appropriate attire for Zanzibar, but of course he missed dinner, didn’t he, and obviously Veronique wasn’t one of those who sought his advice later while packing. 

“I have something you can wear.” Rising from her perch on the arm of the sofa beside Niall, Alicia approaches Veronique. “We’re about the same size. Come to my room when we go upstairs and I’ll show you.”

Veronique glowers as she scathingly rakes her eyes over Alicia, clearly not taking well the insinuation that a woman a decade older than her is her equal. Louis has had enough, and he gives Alicia a smile of appreciation. “Thanks, love.”

There’s an audible huff from Harry. Seriously? Louis darts an incredulous glance across the room at him, then goes to collect the keys to distribute. People head for the lift as each sharing pair receives their key, and Louis is annoyed enough to take his time working through the crowd, leaving the sofa for last. 

“Thanks, Louis.” Liam takes the key Louis holds out when he can’t put it off any longer. “Will we see you two for dinner?”

In the bus, vague ideas of planning some kind of romantic date had floated through Louis’ head. There’s a exotic restaurant here famous for its rooftop terrace with a perfect view of the ocean at sunset, for example. It’s expensive, but he figured he could justify the cost for a single romantic date with Harry. Such plans fizzle in the face of his current irritation. “If you guys want to experience local food tonight, meet us down here in the lobby at six-thirty and I’ll take you to Forodhani Gardens, yeah?” He looks past Liam to Niall, who looks bereft since Alicia took Veronique upstairs with her. “Feel free to bring Alicia too, if you want, Niall.”

Niall brightens. “I’ll ask her. Dunno if she will, though.”

Louis needs to ask Harry for an update on that situation, since they’ve seemed pretty firmly together, as far as he’s noticed. “Excellent. Haz? I’ve got our key. Want to bring the bags up?” 

Harry seems to like shouldering both their bags, and Louis is more than content to let him. He’s quiet as he follows Louis out of the lift on the fourth floor, leaving Liam and Niall behind to go up to the sixth. This is their last hotel room together, Louis thinks as he unlocks the door. They have an hour before the time he told Liam and Niall to meet them. There’s so much they can do in an hour. 

Harry drops both bags on the bed closer to the door, without consultation with Louis, then stomps into the en-suite bathroom, shutting the door behind him. 

Right then. Damn it. What the fuck’s going on?

Ignoring him, Louis climbs onto the bed beside the windows, making himself comfortable amongst a horde of pillows, and pulls out his phone to connect to the hotel wifi. The email about South America still lurks in his inbox. A new one has joined it, from Erica, the woman who recommended him. Apprehensively, he clicks on it.

_Louis!! Really excited to hear you want to work with us! Hope you don’t mind that I gave you a glowing recommendation, since I happened to be in the office when they got your email. I thought you’d never leave Africa haha! This is the best place, swear to God, you’ll love it. Very different, but a thrilling challenge. Buy more warm clothes!!_

She seems certain he’ll get the job. Why does his stomach feel tight when he thinks about it? Just nerves, that’s all. He’s been in Africa for so long and this is a big change. An exciting change, he reminds himself. Something he wants.

And he can’t compare how much he wants this with how much he wants Harry. 

“Haz?” he calls.

The bathroom door slams open and Harry surges out. “Fuck me,” he says urgently. “Please, Lou.”

Louis blinks, his brain taking a second to process. “What? I mean—Haz, we barely have an hour before we have to meet the others.”

“Doesn’t need to take long.” Harry isn’t meeting his eyes. “Just want to feel you in me. Please.”

“Look at me, love.”

Harry flinches. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, ‘love’?”

“You call everyone that.” Bristling, he flops down onto the bed beside Louis. “I just—we’re—this is our last opportunity, our last hotel room. I want to make the most of it, you know?”

Louis can’t keep up. “So, wait, you were annoyed earlier because I was calling people ‘love’?”

“Trying not to be,” Harry mumbles. “I know jealousy’s unattractive and I have no right.”

Harry was jealous? Louis probably shouldn’t like it this much, because he’s clearly ashamed of himself. “You’re the only one I’m—” _In love with._ “—sleeping with. You know that.”

“I know.” Green eyes that are usually so bright are cloudy when they reluctantly meet his. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just—” He breaks off, focusing on one of the pillows that his hands are twisting into. “I want you,” he says. “After today—tomorrow morning at the latest—that’s it, we can’t do this again.” His eyes flick up uncertainly. “I’m not ready, Lou, to lose you.”

_Oh._

The words crash through every defence Louis’ been clinging to. “Haz....baby.”

“Please.” Harry’s voice breaks on the word. He looks away, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be, like, demanding, or—you’re allowed to say no if you want to, of course you are. If you don’t, like, want me. But—”

“Of course I want you.”

“Yeah?”

There’ll never be a universe in which Louis doesn’t want Harry. “C’mere, darlin’.”

Harry scurries across the bed into Louis’ arms. He’s shaking, trembling with repressed emotion. Or maybe that’s Louis. 

“’s okay, baby,” Louis whispers, brushing kisses across his lips and holding on more tightly. “I want you so much, you have no idea.”

“I wanna feel you inside me.” Harry’s words are muffled as he kisses back, kneeling up so he can straddle Louis’ thighs. “Want you to fuck me hard, Lou, make it hurt so I keep feeling it. Don’t wanna....”

It sounds like the last two words are _lose you_ , but it could be those are just the words pounding through Louis’ head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please. Good hurt, not bad hurt.” Harry draws back a little so he can look directly into Louis’ eyes. “Very good hurt. Please, Lou.”

How is Louis supposed to say no? “We don’t have much time.”

“All the more reason to make it fast and hard.”

He’s not used to this. Michelle liked things gentle and tender in bed, never wanted him to lose too much control. Right now his control’s fragmenting. Harry rolls his hips against him, eyes flaring when he feels how hard Louis is. 

Right. Okay. Louis can do this. He can give it to them both.

*

He’s still shaking afterwards. 

They clean up, split a quick shower, pull clothes on, and he can’t stop. It felt different this time. More....raw. Like part of him ripped open and can’t be repaired. 

Harry looks better, clear-eyed again, and bright. So shiny bright it almost hurts to look at him. He’s so fucking beautiful and Louis loves him.

 _Stop thinking about that, damn it._ It’ll come out his mouth at any moment without his permission if he keeps letting it run through his head.

It’s good to have the distraction of leading the boys and Alicia through the bustling evening streets. Their hotel is deep within the maze of ancient alleyways that make up historic Stone Town, and he should be tour-leadering about them, describing their evolution through the variety of cultures that have dominated Zanzibar, identifying how to understand what they reveal, but for the life of him he can’t recall right now what differentiates an ornate Arab-style carved door from a Swahili door. The Indian doors have anti-elephant studs on them, he thinks vaguely, most of his energy going on refraining from catching Harry’s arm to guide him around a sharp corner and past two men pulling a cart. Harry would like that fact. Louis should tell it to him. 

Maybe tomorrow. They don’t have to go on Abdullah’s official Stone Town tour. Louis can take him on a private tour, possibly borrowing Liam’s guidebook to make the best of it. That’ll give them extra time to exploit their hotel room to the full before having to check out and return to reality.

“So what’s waiting for us in the gardens, Louis?” Liam asks as they emerge from the warren of alleys onto a larger road beside the sea. 

“It’s, um—” Right, the gardens. Dinner. “The Forodhani Gardens have a street food market in the evenings.” Thank fuck he sounds relatively normal. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can be taken for a ride or end up with food poisoning, but you can also get an excellent introduction to local food there.”

“Food poisoning?” Alicia says with horror. “Is it even safe to risk going there? Why don’t we go to a properly vetted restaurant?”

Louis’ dealt with this before. “You know how in New York,” not that he knows but he’s talked to enough passengers from there, “you know there are certain places to go for decent food and other places you wouldn’t touch? And you know how you know that because you live there, whereas obviously tourists wouldn’t? It’s the same here.”

“You don’t live here, though.”

“I’ve been here often enough. Trust me, Alicia.”

“He knows someone there.” Niall sounds confident. “You’ll see. Someone trustworthy.”

“If you don’t like the look of anything,” Louis assures her, “I know an excellent Indian restaurant we can stop at on the way home for you. Or, if you’re not comfortable with Indian, there’s a great Italian place around the corner. Yeah? How does that sound?”

She’s been nervous all along the trip, a city girl out of her depth in the wilds of eastern Africa, but he’s proud of her for branching out of her comfort zone like this, being willing to forego the heavy makeup she arrived with and get down and dirty in unflattering travel clothing, with no fussing about how different everything is here from home. He’s had a number of passengers who haven’t been able to make the psychological transition, who expect to continue living their prissy, pampered, privileged lives while on the road through some of the poorest countries on earth. Alicia hasn’t been like that, and he appreciates it. 

“Thanks, Louis.” She gives him a smile, as if in apology. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

After all of that, he doesn’t dare avoid Farid’s stall. He guides them the long way around through the bustling gardens, where gas lanterns and oil lamps are being lit around the makeshift tables as the sun sinks into the sea between the trees. 

“So it’s mostly seafood here, as you can see.” He gestures to the endless rows of skewers laid out across the tables, crammed with aromatic pieces of grilled barracuda, crab, squid and other ocean delicacies, piles of coiled octopus tentacles and entire lobsters behind them. “This is the most hazardous to your health,” he points out to Alicia, “because it’s not necessarily as fresh as the vendors make out.” Shaking his head firmly at two ambitious vendors approaching them, he angles deeper into the market. “The best food to try here is what’s called Zanzibar pizza.”

“It’s different to normal pizza?” Liam asks. “I think I read something about it somewhere.”

“It’s nothing like normal pizza. In fact, I’m not sure why it’s even called pizza.” 

“Can you get a vegetarian version?” Harry edges closer to him, shrinking away as they shuffle too closely past a pile of crabs so enormous Louis wouldn’t be able to reach around them with both arms. He looks pale despite the flush of sunset through the gardens, and Louis sneaks in a quick squeeze of his hand.

“Sure you can. You can get savoury vegetarian versions as well as dessert options, with ingredients like Nutella and banana.”

“Nutella on pizza?” Alicia asks. 

“In pizza, more like,” Louis clarifies. “The Zanzibari version is basically your fillings placed on what’s like a crepe, a second crepe is laid over the top, then it’s fried crisp.”

“How is that a pizza?”

“Zanzibari pizza, Niall,” Liam reminds him. “Not pizza pizza.”

“That sounds okay.” Stepping closer to Louis, Harry makes it look accidental that their arms press against each other. “That’s what you recommend?”

He’s just been inside Harry’s body. Such a mild little touch shouldn’t resonate through him so acutely. “My other recommendation for tonight would be urojo, for anyone who feels adventurous. It’s a big favourite amongst the locals here.” Some more steely headshakes at pushy vendors keeps them free of interruption as they round the final corner on the approach to Farid’s stall. “It’s kind of a soup, more like an entire meal in a single bowl, covered in mango and lemon sauce.” He doesn’t have it often because he prefers other street food, but he tries to remember what all goes into it. “There’s a variety of potato, often mashed potato as well as deep fried potato cubes, you can add grilled beef or bahjias or a boiled egg for some protein, there are noodles, and it’s topped with kachumbari, the onion and tomato salad we had at the spice plantation, or fried cassava shavings and coconut chutney.”

“That sounds a bit of a mess,” Alicia observes.

“It is, but it’s very satisfying, if a little sour.”

“I want to try that,” Niall says. “Can I have that as well as Zanzibar pizza?”

“Absolutely.” Louis brings their little group to a halt. “Jambo, Farid.”

“Louis! Jambo! You brought your friends with you tonight!”

Louis’ only ever brought Zayn here in the past, and that was only once. “Friends from England and America,” he confirms since Farid knows he had a girlfriend in South Africa, “on their first visit to Zanzibar, so I want to impress them.”

“Oh yes, very impressive here,” Farid declares. “You want introductions to Zanzibar pizza?”

“I want urojo too.” Niall presses forward, studying Farid’s table. “Do you make that?”

“For that, you need to visit my friend next door. You are trying both? That is the way, my friend, be brave.” He looks up at Louis. “Usual price, Louis?”

Louis nods. He could try to negotiate Farid down further, but he knows Farid doesn’t try to rip him off, like most of the vendors try with the tourists here, so he’s willing to go a little higher in appreciation. “And for the urojo.”

“I will arrange it.”

Liam asks for a list of possible pizza fillings, while Harry finds out what savoury vegetarian options are available. Louis’ favourite is beef and vegetable, which Farid gets frying first while the others make up their minds. 

“What do you think of mango/avocado?” Harry sidles up beside him, murmuring straight into Louis’ ear so he doesn’t have to shout over the buzz of the crowded market. “That’s adventurous, right?”

Louis can’t think of much worse. “Mango sounds more appropriate for dessert. What about egg and mushrooms with minced vegetables?”

“I could probably do with some protein,” Harry muses, “after that workout just now.”

Once again, Louis’ entire body jolts. “Hey, I’m the one who did most of the work, in case you didn’t notice.”

Harry’s smile is the same one he used when Louis bottomed out inside him. “How about later I return the favour? Would you want to, one more time?”

It’s a little bit embarrassing how badly Louis wants to. “Don’t ask me something like that in public, Harriet,” he says sternly, hoping the dim lighting, now that night has fully fallen, is hiding his burning cheeks. “It makes me want to do things to you.”

Harry giggles. “Like what?”

So many things they haven’t done yet, haven’t had the time to try. “Not here,” Louis emphasises. “But yes, the answer to your question is yes.”

Pizzas and urojo in hand, Farid paid and tipped extravagantly, they stop for glasses of freshly squeezed sugarcane juice then wander through the congested gardens to find the low wall beside the sea to sit on. Harry and Alicia decide to brave a taste of Niall’s soup, but Liam drops down on Louis’ other side. “Can I talk to you, Louis?” 

Louis glances at Harry, who pretends he didn’t hear, but he inches further away from them along the wall, loudly demanding a sample of fried cassava shavings from Niall. “Of course, lad. What’s up?”

The lapping of the waves and the loud hum from the market lend them a bit of necessary privacy as Liam says bluntly, “I slept with Eric. Do you think Zayn will hate me?”

Whoa. “You what?”

“Yeah.” Liam looks down, focusing on his pizza. “It was stupid. I knew that even while I was doing it.”

Louis can’t get his head around it. “Eric? Like, Swiss Eric?”

“Yeah. Eric on our tour.”

“When?” How did he not notice this was going on? 

“At the beach. After the cruise and dinner last night.” Liam shoves a bite of his pizza in his mouth and chews agitatedly. 

Louis thinks he should say something but he’s not sure what. Zayn said Liam didn’t want to sleep with him again after their first time. “I thought it wasn’t like that between you,” he says carefully. “You and Zayn, I mean.”

“I panicked.” Liam looks disgusted with himself. “It was my first time. With—” He casts a wary eye around. “ _You know._ I’ve had girlfriends. But then he—he was so—it was so good, and it wasn’t meant to be anything. Just a holiday fling, you know? An experiment.”

“Did Zayn know that?”

Liam flinches at Louis’ hard tone. “I thought he did. He said no pressure, no strings. Just try it and see if I liked it.”

“And you did?”

“I fell in love, Louis.”

 _Oh._ But—why is Liam telling Louis this? “That’s not what Zayn thinks.”

“I know. I didn’t tell him.”

“Instead you said you just wanted to be friends.”

“Yeah.” Liam takes another miserable bite of pizza. “Was he upset? I couldn’t tell. He seemed fine when I said it, but then—he wouldn’t talk to me for several days. I was about to tell him I’d changed my mind, but then he started again in Malawi, this time just as friends, and friends is good, Louis, friends is—I’m not usually good at sharing stuff, not stuff that matters, but I feel like I can talk to Zayn about anything. That’s all we did while we drove across Tanzania when you were in the back, share stuff we’d never told anyone.”

“And then you came to Zanzibar and cheated on him?”

“Yes.” Liam slumps back down dejectedly. “I did.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because I wanted to see if it would be the same with someone else. If it was just—you know—with a guy instead of a girl that did it for me.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Mulling that over, Louis finishes off his savoury pizza. “So you want to, what, get back together with him?” he asks as he licks his fingers clean.

“Not much point, “Liam says, setting his paper plate down on the wall beside him, “what with him going to South America and all.”

“Zayn isn’t going to South America.” What the fuck?

Liam frowns. “You’re still going, right?”

“I am, but Zayn isn’t.” Louis can’t imagine Zayn ever leaving Africa. “Why would you think that?”

“Because he told me.” Liam shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “I was trying to talk him into coming to London to exhibit his paintings there, maybe even to go to art school like he’s always dreamed of, and he told me he can’t because he’s going to South America with you.”

Was that an excuse to put Liam off? “He’s never said anything like that to me. Africa’s his home, his passion.” Louis can’t imagine him in artsy London any more than in the tropical Amazon or on the vast steppe of Patagonia. 

“Yeah, well.” Liam looks like he can’t imagine it either. “South America or Africa, doesn’t make much difference in the end if neither is London. And it’s not like I can just leave London to join him.”

“Why not?” If Liam can think Zayn should leave his job and his life in Africa, why shouldn’t he return the favour of at least considering the reverse? “You could get a job out here.”

“Like what?”

Louis hasn’t a clue. “The world is full of possibilities, Liam. You could do my job,” he points out. “You took over naturally enough whenever I stepped back. You remember facts a lot better than I do. You’re organised and don’t seem fazed by the grind of life on the road.”

“I....couldn’t.” Liam sounds shellshocked. “You honestly think I could?”

Now that Louis thinks about it. “Sure. You have all the right attributes, and it’s not a complicated job. Although you’re a bit more ambitious than I am, so, you know, there are more touring jobs than just overlanding for backpackers. There are plenty of luxury tours around Africa that need leaders. And drivers.”

“You’re actually serious.”

“Yup.”

“Fuck.” Liam stares blankly into the hubbub of the market going about its nightly business as usual while he comes to terms with what seems to be a world-altering idea for him. “This is—this is like me telling you that you could just walk into my job in London.”

“Yeah, except this is actually possible.”

Liam pulls his eyes away from a blonde couple haggling with a kebab merchant. “You could, though,” he says, consideringly. “I mean, not just walk into it, there’s a lot you’d need to learn, but the two jobs aren’t that different. They’re both about managing people. Here you manage them across Africa. There you’d manage them through the music industry.”

“But I don’t know anything about the music industry.”

“I don’t know anything about cooking for twenty-five people.”

“You can learn.”

“So can you.”

Liam is—he's honestly serious. “Liam, you’ve been doing this for years, you have a million contacts and so many skills you don’t even realise are skills. I’ve watched you, and there’s no way I could do what you do. And what about Niall?”

“I could teach you. And Niall likes you. He’d trust you.”

Whoa, this is all moving way too fast. “Hang on, what the fuck, Liam, you’d actually leave Niall?”

“Weren’t you the one telling me a minute ago to move to Africa?”

“Yeah, but....” That was on the assumption Liam would leave Niall with somebody competent. Not Louis.

“The world is full of possibilities, Louis.” Liam grins when Louis glares at him. “No, seriously, it is. I’ve been looking at this all wrong. We both have. I thought I had option A or option B and that was it, like you thought you had Africa or South America. But there’s a whole alphabet, damn it. I ended up in music because I used to sing and that was all I knew. But what I really like is managing stuff, sorting shit out, giving people what they want in the best possible way. Is leading overland tours really what you grew up dreaming about?”

“I intended to be a teacher,” Louis says stiffly, because his body feels like it’s going into shock. 

“There, you see? Managing people, sorting them out, organising stuff.”

“Teaching them shit?”

“My job is teaching people how much they want to listen to Niall’s music and come to his shows. If I took on more clients, it would be teaching them how to survive in the industry. It’s not a pleasant industry, don’t get me wrong, it’s just as vicious and cut-throat as Africa can be. But the kind of person you are, Louis, you’d rise to the occasion and fight for your clients and I’m pretty sure you’d win.”

Louis can’t take any more of this. He glances across at the others, who are now sharing bites of each other’s dessert pizzas and loudly debating the merits of each filling. “Listen,” he says, “I meant it about you doing tour leading. You definitely could, and it’s a possibility if you want to be with Zayn. I don’t expect him to come to South America with me. I don’t want him to, because I know his heart is here. And his family is in Cape Town, his sisters; he gets to stay with them between every trip and I know that means a lot to him. As for—you know, Eric, that’s for him and you to deal with. I can’t guess how he’d react because he’s never really been with anyone while I’ve known him. But I do think it’s worth talking to him about it. About the future. A shared future.”

“Okay.” Liam nods slowly, processing. “You’re right about his family. He told me about them and you’re right. But don’t think I’m trying to talk you into the music business just to replace myself, Louis. I’m not saying it would be easy, but it’s definitely an option. Not to mention it’s the same industry as H.”

“Harry’s gonna be a lawyer.”

“A music lawyer. A lawyer in the music industry. He didn’t tell you that?”

“No.” This makes a lot more sense than the thought of Harry dealing with murderers or fraudsters or whatever it is that normal lawyers deal with. “He never went into detail about—” Louis’ brain hurts from overload and he’s having trouble breathing. “Finish your pizza, Liam, and talk to Zayn when we get back. And think about what I said.”

“You too.”

*

Louis means to, he does, but the possibilities Liam raised hit him like a wipeout on a twenty-five foot wave. Not that he’s surfed something that big, but he’s been smashed about by smaller waves, violently whiplashed as he’s been helplessly somersaulted and crushed beneath the water, surfacing for three seconds of precious air before being bludgeoned in the face by the next wave and bashed back beneath it. Any time he contemplates the conversation, he feels like he’s back underwater and can’t surface, can’t breathe, can’t find a moment to think straight.

So he focuses on Harry. 

On sharing the last of his mango and banana pizza, fed straight into his mouth from Harry’s fingers. 

On laughing about how popular Niall’s soup was and vowing to look up recipes online for Harry about fried cassava shavings and coconut chutney. 

On savouring his own Nutella pizza and feeding fingerfuls of it to Harry, even though they shouldn’t here in public, unable to resist the temptation. 

On navigating back through the winding alleyways in the dark, hand resting low on the curve of Harry’s back, and smiling goodnight to Tiana on reception before herding Harry upstairs, back to their room and their bed, and opening himself up while Harry watches, huge-eyed and hungry, making Harry wait until he’s frantic, then giving himself over to the whirlwind of the happiest he’s ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	38. Chapter 38

**Day 38 - Harry**

**Stone Town, Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania**

Harry tries very hard not to think about this being their last morning together as he lies snuggled in Louis’ arms, watching the ray of sun between the blinds cross the bed with foreboding. The sun rises at half past six here, which means it’s after that, quite a bit after if the sun’s reaching them through the buildings. He doesn’t want to reach out for a phone to see how much longer until their alarm. Doesn’t want to count down the remaining seconds.

But is counting Louis’ heartbeats any better?

“I know you’re awake, babe.”

He knows Louis is, too, but wasn’t planning to say anything. “We still have time.”

“Breakfast’s at eight.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Abdullah’s tour is at nine.”

“Don’t want it either.”

“Latest checkout’s at eleven.”

“So we have time.”

“Don’t you want to see some of Stone Town?”

No. Harry saw enough. It’s all dirty, twisting alleys and pushy salesmen and hungry cats he can’t feed. “Just have some lunch. With you. Your favourite place.”

“I usually get street food.”

“Zanzibar pizza?”

“Other Zanzibar stuff. It’s nice. You’ll like it. But are you sure you want to miss out on seeing the Old Fort and the Persian Baths and the old slave market?”

Harry shudders at the thought of Zanzibar’s unhappy history with slavery. “It’s Sunday morning.” Next Sunday they’ll wake up half a world apart. “Let’s just be, like, normal.”

“Normal?”

“You know. Lazy sex in the sunshine, late coffee at the place you mentioned you like, brunch along the street. Normal for you and me in Zanzibar.”

Normal in this abnormal world they’ve come together in. 

Louis’ hand plays absently with Harry’s curls as he considers Harry’s proposal. “I want to show you the market, at least,” he says after Harry’s counted nearly two hundred heartbeats. They’ve sped up a little. “And the doors. The doors are special.”

“Doors?”

“Yeah. Some have anti-elephant spikes.”

“There are elephants here?”

“There were in India.”

“India?”

“See? Plenty of things out there for you to learn of interest, Harriet.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly, Harry reaches over Louis for one of their phones. It’s after eight. “What time do we have to be at the ferry station?”

“One-thirty.”

“Checking out at eleven gives us plenty of time for coffee and brunch and markets and doors. Right?”

“Two and a half hours, yeah, I guess. Stone Town’s not that big.”

“So that means almost three more hours here, together, like this.”

“You just want to cuddle the morning away, Haz?”

He never wants Louis to let him go. “Cuddling,” he says, holding tighter. “Kissing.” He lifts his head to press soft kisses against Louis’ sharp jaw line. “Making out.” He reaches Louis’ mouth, licks into it. Louis still tastes like Nutella since they didn’t brush their teeth before falling into bed together last night. “Maybe a little bit of this.” He twists beneath the covers so he can hump his hard dick against Louis’ thigh. 

“Just a little bit of that?” Louis asks, smiling against Harry’s lips. 

“As much as we want.” There won’t be further opportunities for another lazy morning enjoying each other’s bodies. “Can I bite you now? Leave marks?”

Louis shivers against him. “Anywhere a t-shirt and shorts will cover.”

*

All Sunday mornings should be like this, according to Harry. They push checkout to the last possible second, taking turns to shower as the other shoves clothes back into bags in the final minutes before eleven, then dashing for the lift, hair wet and streaming, laughing almost hysterically. Louis doesn’t seem to know the person at reception who checks them out and takes charge of their bags along with the rest of their group’s, which Harry’s relieved about, and he’s still laughing when they spill out into the street. Alley. Whatever.

Harry looks up and down, paying attention for the first time. “How on earth do you know where to go around here, Lou?”

He quickly learns that directions are things like: pick the alley beside the house with the red roof, not the grey one; stay left of the sandy courtyard; don’t veer right at the house with a dozen cats but keep straight; and, if you hit the blue mural you’ve gone too far. They pause at an art gallery that spills out onto stone steps and makeshift wooden tables scattered around a tiny square, and he learns about Tingatinga paintings, the brilliant and vivid somewhat surrealistic depictions of Africa meant for tourist consumption. 

“I prefer Zayn’s,” he says after examining a few colourful examples.

Louis grins. “Me too.” 

He’s wearing Harry’s Namibian flag cap and Pink Floyd t-shirt above his denim shorts, he’s tanned from the beach sunshine, and his eyes sparkle more brightly than Harry remembers from the beginning of the tour. Or maybe he just treasures that sparkle more now. 

He treasures everything about Louis. 

“Take me to coffee,” he demands, since he can’t press Louis up against the buildings in a secluded corner without endangering both their lives, and Louis’ laugh echoes through the square. 

“As you command.”

Along the way, he teaches Harry about the doors and Harry dutifully photographs them. In contrast to the buildings of coral stone, they’re dark, mostly made of elaborately carved teak, soaring up to a dozen feet above Harry’s head. 

“If it’s arched, it’s usually of Indian design, although the brass spikes are an easier giveaway.”

“Anti-elephant spikes?” Harry asks, trying not to laugh at the image of an elephant trying to fit through the constricted alleyways. 

“They were necessary in the jungles of India, apparently.” Louis runs a hand over one and Harry wants that hand on his body. “Here they became more of a symbol of wealth. Like the Omani Arabic doors used the intricacy of their carving to symbolise wealth.” 

“The more intricate, the wealthier?”

“Yeah.” Louis points to the top of an Arab door further down the alley. “See the Arab writing carved up there? It’s often quotes from the Koran, or it might describe the profession of the man of the house. The carvings can also indicate profession, such as flowers for a family home, rope for the fishing trade, or maybe vines for the spice trade.”

“What about chains?” Harry looks across at the door opposite. “What do they mean?”

“Slavers.”

Harry lowers his camera instead of taking the picture he was lining up. “They boasted about being slave traders?”

“It was a legitimate business back then.”

“Never legitimate.” It’s so appalling Harry can’t bear to think about it. “Liam read something the other day about a church now standing where the old market used to be.”

“The altar stands on the location of the whipping post.”

“They had a whipping post? Like, an actual one where they....”

Louis’ mouth twists. “Yeah, where they tested the mettle of men, women and children to determine their price.”

“I very much don’t want to see that today.”

“We won’t, baby.” Louis brushes the back of his fingers down Harry’s forearm, the closest to a caress they can get away with in public. “Come here and look at the doors down this alley. Do you see how different they are, more rectangular and plain? They’re the Swahili doors, usually the oldest, closest to the original since they aren’t considered valuable enough to restore.”

Harry practises identifying doors and possible professions until Louis steers him into a traditional Arab building with arches and low wooden benches and tables on a stone floor painted with bright yellow suns. 

“This is coffee,” he announces. “Head up those stairs to the rooftop terrace, and I’ll join you when I’ve ordered.”

“I can pay—”

“Let me.”

It feels nice, Louis providing for him like this. Louis doesn’t even need to ask for his order. Harry likes that. This is how life should be, just like Harry could order for him in return. 

The view from the terrace is glorious, higher than most of the surrounding buildings, offering him a three-sixty degree view of the winding labyrinth of lanes from above. Louis was right. He should have allowed more time for exploring this place. It’s fascinating and bizarre and deserves more than being a mere backdrop to Harry’s last Sunday morning with Louis. 

But it will always be here. He can come back one day. Maybe on honeymoon—but no. Not with someone who isn’t Louis. Zanzibar will always be Louis for him.

The coffee’s delicious and energising. They share the terrace with a group of girls who sound German and don’t give them a second look, so they tangle their legs together beneath the table and stop bothering about the view, gazing into each other’s eyes as they fall into a comfortable silence. 

How can that not be love he sees in Louis’ eyes? 

How does Louis not see the love in his?

The watch of one of the girls beeps the hour, and Louis jumps. “Right. That’s midday. Time for brunch and then the market.”

Brunch turns out to be chapatis from a woman named Irina at the side of the road, who greets Louis with the same welcoming smile as Farid last night. These two don’t seem plugged into the overland network, and it hurts Harry’s heart a little to think of how lonely Zanzibar usually is for Louis, wandering these streets by himself, nobody to share them with. 

The chapatis, freshly cooked in front of them, are wrapped around kachori, which are deep fried balls of mashed potato, and spiced with chilli, lime, and ginger. Harry opts to have shredded carrots and cabbage with his, while Louis adds fire-roasted peanuts. There’s a whole world of cuisine here that Harry would eagerly delve into if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied. Again, he thinks he should come back for further investigations. Again, he rejects the thought of being here without Louis.

“You okay?” Louis asks, because of course he’s noticed Harry’s lapse into distress. “Lunch okay? It’s all right if you don’t like it, we can find something more—”

“I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m trying to identify each flavour,” Harry tells him, because he kind of was, before he got distracted. “So many things I’ve never tasted before, or, at least, not together. What other kinds of things do you eat when you’re here?”

“I always eat this,” Louis says. “Oops, mind the cart.” He grabs Harry’s elbow briefly to allow two men to ease around the narrow corner, one pulling a two-wheeled wooden cart laden high with freshly baked bread, while the other pushes from behind. “Comfort food,” he says once the way is clear but for a pair of tumbling tabby cats, “especially when I’m a bit homesick, is what they call chips mayai, which is chips fried with eggs into a kind of omelette with chilli on top. Not really healthy, but delicious, and reminds me of being a kid.”

“They don’t do fish and chips here?”

“More like octopus and cassava, both cut into little chunks and fried together, then served in a cone of newspaper. Doesn’t taste anything like home, I can assure you.”

Harry chuckles at the thought. “Imagine going into downtown Doncaster and asking for a serving of fried octopus and cassava on a Saturday night.”

“You’d be laughed out of town. We don’t even have sushi. Or we didn’t, in my day.”

“I remember the first time I saw sushi. I thought the guys were having me on, and it was a joke. It couldn’t be real food.”

“Sushi is not real food, Harriet, didn’t you know?”

“It’s as real as octopus chips and mango pizza.”

“You want to come back here and learn all these recipes, don’t you?”

Just like that, his laughter’s gone. “Only with you.” Shit, he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I mean—” He can’t turn it into anything else. “Where’s this market you promised me, Lou?”

“Yes,” Louis says too loudly as he starts walking again. “Darajani Market. It’s the main market in Zanzibar. We missed the fresh fish auction this morning, but I don’t imagine you mind too much about that.”

“You would be right.”

They pass a little building with one wall covered in chalkboards listing the results of all yesterday’s Premier League football matches. Harry can’t help pausing to see how Manchester United did, even though he hasn’t seen a result for weeks. Lost to Tottenham, 3-1, what a surprise. 

“You a fan?” Louis asks.

It’s funny that they know each other so well on some levels, but don’t know something as mundane as this. “Man United.” Harry indicates their dismal result. “You?”

“Donny Rovers. They don’t make the illustrious chalkboard results in Zanzibar.”

Harry knows nothing about Doncaster Rovers beside the fact they exist and, logically, must be based in Doncaster. 

“I used to work at Keepmoat. Their stadium,” Louis clarifies when Harry makes woefully obvious his ignorance. “Not for long, just a season or two. Fucking dreamed of becoming a footballer, didn’t I?”

Doesn’t everyone? “I did too, but I’m not the best at kicking a ball. Did you play?”

“Yeah. Quite seriously for a while. But practices clashed with picking the kids up from school and—” Louis breaks off, seemingly belatedly realising he’d brought up the taboo topic of his siblings. 

Harry’s not sure whether to change the topic or to give Louis some space to decide if he wants to talk about them for a change, so he busies himself taking a discreet photograph from behind of a woman walking two chickens on tiny leashes. 

“The twins play,” Louis says at last, once the women and her chickens have rounded the corner and Harry’s deleted five of the nine pictures he took. “I’ve never been to a single game of theirs.”

He could change that by going to England, but it’s not Harry’s business to point that out. Louis knows it well enough for himself. “My sister played for a while,” he says instead. “She was a lot better than me. But she wasn’t that interested. I’d have killed for some of her ability, but I was better at doing, like, pirouettes on the field rather than scoring goals.”

“Pirouettes?” Louis latches onto the potential change of subject Harry’s offered. “Why on earth were you doing pirouettes on a football field?”

“To practise?” Harry steps into a slightly wider bit of alley and, lifting his hands above his head, delicately twirls. “I can still do them.”

“Yeah, but, _why?”_

“My sister also did ballet and I went with her for a while. I had some posture problems—you know the issue with my back?—and they thought it would help.”

“Did it?”

“I dunno. Maybe? I wasn’t much better at ballet than I was at footie, but it was a lot calmer. And you didn’t get wet if it rained. And ballet shoes feel nice on your feet, you can feel the floor through them really well.”

Somewhere during that speech, Louis came to a halt. Harry turns back.

“Are you coming?”

“I’m trying to picture you wearing ballet shoes.” Louis says it as though it’s some alien footwear from Mars Harry just admitted to owning. “Did you wear tights too?”

“You kind of have to.”

“How about a tutu?”

“That was for the girls—are you teasing me?”

“No, Harriet. I’m picturing you, honest to God, wearing a frilly pink tutu—” He breaks off into giggles as Harry punches him. “No, seriously! You’d look really pretty, I’m sure—”

Harry punches him again. Hard. “Shut up.”

“You’ve just made my day, honestly, Harry.”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you something because you told me that. I got fired from three jobs growing up.”

“Three?”

“I had problems with things like time-keeping, with charging for all the packets of popcorn at the cinema I dispensed, you know, little things that bosses tend to care quite a lot about.”

“Louis!”

“I managed not to get fired from Toys R Us, though, so that’s something. And I wasn’t a bad bartender, which is what I did at uni.”

“I remember.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah.” It feels so long ago now, when Harry was massaging him in that bushman hut in the Kalahari and Louis told him about how he met Michelle. “In Botswana.”

“Botswana feels like a lifetime ago.”

Louis was still with Michelle that night. It was just before Maun and the Okavango and Harry’s birthday, and Louis found out right after that. 

“Don’t take pictures down that alley.”

Harry wasn’t intending to, but he lowers his camera all the same as he catches a glimpse of animal skins outside one of the buildings further down the alley Louis indicated. “Why not?”

“It’s a—well, a traditional healer has a shop down there and he doesn’t like photographs.”

“What, like a witch doctor?”

“Sort of. I think they’re called traditional healers these days, though.”

“Does he, like, put a curse on you if you take pictures?”

“I don’t think they do things like curse people, Haz. But I wouldn’t want to risk it. Better to respect his wishes, I believe.”

Harry lets himself be herded away and tries not to look back. “But people actually go to him? For medication and stuff, for help?”

“Yeah. They do all through Africa.”

“Still?”

“Yeah.”

Harry hadn’t realised that. There’s still so much he doesn’t know about Africa. So much he’ll never know. 

But before he can think further about it, they abruptly burst out of the suffocating alleys onto a broad street, wide dusty car parks on either side of it, shaded by tall palms and other trees he can’t identify. Motorbikes whiz up and down, winding between the traffic of ancient cars, dilapidated trucks and crowded minibuses, while in the distance, bright umbrellas cluster outside a long red-roofed building. 

Louis gestures towards them. “The market.”

After so long encased within a tangle of narrow walls, Harry feels exposed as they head towards the umbrellas. It’s okay, he tells himself. Nobody knows about him and Louis. They’re a respectable distance apart. They’re not touching. They’re safe. 

The umbrella’d section of market seems to be a mishmash of extremely random wares crowded onto temporary stalls. Fresh loaves tower beside a collection of plastic buckets, woven baskets vie for space with leather shoes, and cheap children’s toys lie between stalls of piles of snazzy mobile phones and what Louis tells him are traditional Zanzibari embroidered kofia hats. 

Louis pauses beside one of the vendors of fresh dates. “I always get some of these for Zayn, he likes them. You want to try some?”

“I’m still quite full from those chapatis.”

“That’s okay. We want to save space for ice cream after this.”

“Ice cream?” 

“Our final stop before returning to the hotel for our bags. Somewhere else I always visit when I come here. Just wait.”

The meat market doesn’t take too long. One look at the skinned carcasses dangling from hooks and Harry turns his back instantly, blocking out from his visual memory the image of piles of squid and octopus being roughly hacked up with machetes. Louis doesn’t tease him for his queasiness, but quickly hurries him along into the more fragrant section of spices for sale, both in giant open containers on the floor and wrapped in individual packs for easy transport by tourists. 

“I forgot to buy some for my mum at the spice plantation,” Harry realises when he sees them. “I was going to, but....” He was too preoccupied with getting Louis into bed afterwards. “Am I going to be ripped off if I get them here?”

“No worse than at the plantation.” Louis steers him down a narrow aisle, leaving the carnage of the meat market far behind. “Let’s find a pack that has spices you saw at the plantation, so you can tell her all about how they grow. Do you want to buy one for your sister too?” 

Harry decides he will, and also to get one for himself. It might take a while before he can use it, but the day of the spice tour was one of the happiest days of his life, and this will be like taking a little of it back with him. They find three different combinations, all showcasing spices from the plantation, and Louis barters for him so he doesn’t have to. 

“That’s enough,” he mutters, knocking his knee into Louis after several minutes of extravagant haggling. “I’m happy with that amount.”

“You don’t even know what it is in pounds.”

He has a vague idea. “It’s fine.”

The vendor is following closely. “For this as the final price,” he announces, “I can add a package of cinnamon bark as well. How about that for you?”

“It’s fine, thank you.” Harry elbows Louis as he reaches for his wallet, stopping him from arguing further. 

“I could’ve got him down to half of that,” Louis observes when they amble away towards tables piled high with colourful fruit and vegetables. 

“I don’t mind. I’m a tourist and he’s just trying to make a living.”

Louis stops beside piles of pineapples and jackfruits. “You’re a nice man, Harry Styles.”

Instead of brushing it off, Harry takes him seriously. “I try to be.”

“I know.” Louis’ smile fades. “And you succeed. I want you to know that.”

“Not always.” Harry probably shouldn’t bring it up, but the words come anyway. “I wasn’t yesterday during check-in.”

“That depends how you look at it.” Louis starts moving again, heading towards mounds of cassava and sweet potato, steadying a basket of limes that’s about to tip onto the filthy floor. “It was pretty nice for me to find out why you were behaving like that.”

“Nice to find out I was a jealous ass?”

“Nice to find out how much it mattered.”

There’s that look in Louis’ eyes again, the look that implies so much more than they are, than they have. Than they can be. “Until the end,” Harry asks roughly, “can you just—only for me?”

Louis nods. “Only for you, love.”

Yes. That word. Only for Harry, from Louis. His smile feels a bit wobbly, but Louis matches it. “I think we’ve seen enough of the market,” Harry says, when they can’t stand there any longer smiling at each other like idiots. “Ice cream now? Is it far?”

“The other side of town.” Louis’ eyes hold the smile. “Give you a chance to work up an appetite. Watch yourself,” he warns as they exit past the squawking crates of the live chicken market. “Yeah, you don’t want to get close to them.”

Harry gives himself a shake when they plunge back into the relative peace of the crumbling alleyways. “Never been so grateful for Tesco before.”

*

It’s a shock, arriving at the ferry station to the crowd of Louis’ passengers awaiting them. It’s the real world. The end of their honeymoon. Nearly the end of them.

He seeks refuge with Liam and Niall, who are watching Alicia sort out some spat between Veronique and Nora, Elise helping her soothe some apparently very troubled waters. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t even want to know,” Niall says darkly. “Wish those two had been leaving in Zanzibar instead of Carly and the Koreans.”

“Only a week left.” Liam sounds bracing. 

Yes. A week left for him and Louis. A week left for Niall and Alicia, whatever’s going on there. And a week left for Liam and Zayn. 

Speaking of. “So did you have a nice chat with Louis last night then?” Harry asks him. 

“Who?” Liam acts like he has no idea what Harry’s talking about. “Me?”

“During dinner? At the Gardens? The entire time?”

“You mean you weren’t listening in?”

“Of course not.” How well does Liam know him? “You wanted privacy so I made an idiot of myself making sure you got it. I’ve never talked so much about my dinner in all my life, let alone at the top of my voice.”

“And Louis didn’t tell you?”

“Louis respects people’s privacy.”

“Unlike you right now.”

“It’s private.” They’re in the waiting room for their ferry, tucked away in a corner. Half the rest of the group are asleep on each other’s shoulders. The other half are avidly watching the Veronique/Nora fight. 

“And so was my conversation with Louis.”

“Really?” Harry had tried not to think about it last night, having other more pressing matters on his mind, but now it’s hard to keep the hurt at bay. “You opened up to my boyfriend, but you won’t open up to me, Li?”

“Your boyfriend?” Niall pipes up. 

Shit. “My—Louis.”

“You know that’s almost worse,” Liam comments, “ _your_ Louis.”

“You know what I mean, and stop trying to change the subject.” Harry pulls one knee up and hunches over it. “I’m not being nosy, Li, you know that. Are you okay, at least?” A quick check reveals that Eric is awake and working very hard not to look over at them. “I mean, I don’t know what happened with you and—”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Liam,” Niall murmurs, and Liam slumps back into his plastic seat. 

“Okay, fine. Sorry. I don’t know how to talk about stuff like this. It’s embarrassing.”

“Why embarrassing?”

“Because I’m a mess and I hate being a mess.”

“I’m always a mess, and you don’t mind.”

“H, you’re not a mess.”

“I’m in love with someone who doesn’t want me; I’d say that’s a bit of a mess.”

“In love?”

Liam sounds horribly understanding and Harry wants to pour everything out to him, but that isn’t the subject at hand. “Are you in love?”

“With Eric?”

“With Zayn.”

“I—” Liam darts a look at Louis, who’s now refereeing between the two girls. “I could be.”

“And the Eric thing?”

“A—test?”

“Of Zayn?”

“No, of me.” 

Harry’s lost. “How?”

Liam shrugs. “To see if it was Zayn who made me feel like that, or just, you know, men.”

Oh Liam. Harry wants to hug him, but he’s not sure if that’s safe here. “And?”

“It’s not just men.”

“So what does that mean?” Niall asks. “Are you going to try something with him?”

“I don't know if he wants to. I mean, he was planning to go to South America with Louis, only Louis doesn’t want him to, except Louis didn’t even know until I told him, so that’s also a mess. But then Louis said I could come to Africa and I hadn’t even thought of that, and neither had he.” 

Harry’s lost again. He puts aside the thing about Zayn and South America. “You can come to Africa?” That seems the most pertinent bit out of all that. “What does he mean?” 

“You’re in Africa,” Niall points out.

“Yeah.” Liam looks over to where Louis has calmed the feuding girls and now they’re sobbing in each other’s arms. “There’s stuff we need to talk about, but not here, yeah? And not until after I talk to Zayn.”

“You’re going to talk to him?” Harry asks. “Tell him what happened with Eric?”

Liam nods, resolute and determined. “I don’t want to lie. He’ll either accept it or he won’t. Accept _me_ , or he won’t.”

Harry marvels at his bravery. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“We’re here,” Niall corrects. “Ah, Alicia.”

Harry swivels in his seat to see her approaching. “Hi, guys.” Her smile is tentative. “Am I interrupting if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Liam beams a welcome at her and bounds out of his seat beside Niall to Harry’s other side. “We were taking bets on which of those two would win. What’s the verdict?”

“They both lost,” she declares. “Honestly. I hate that I was a girl like that once. Harry, how was your private tour of Stone Town with Louis? Did he show you his regular haunts?”

Yeah, actually, that’s pretty much exactly what Louis did. “He did. His favourite coffee place, best street food vendor for lunch, we popped into the market for some spices, and then—did any of you visit Tamu?”

“The ice cream place?” Twisting up her long hair, Alicia nods, fanning herself in the heat. “I could do with some more right now. Louis took you there, huh? Which flavours did you try?

“I had hibiscus and cardamom. He was boring and had double chocolate.”

“Double chocolate? That’s sacrilege.”

“Isn’t it? He said he’d tried the masala once, but he prefers his masala in tea form.”

“I had the masala. It was divine. And I tried the tamarind.”

“What was that like?”

“Nicer than I expected. Niall? You had coconut, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and peanut. Wished I could take the coconut home with me. What did you have, Li?” 

“Hm? Oh, passionfruit and ginger. Ginger ice cream, all the way.”

“Yeah, I was tempted by the ginger,” Harry says. “And the coconut. But now tell me about the tour with Abdullah. What did he show you? Louis said something about an Old Fort?”

The conversation about the cultural places of interest in Zanzibar that Harry missed thanks to his “normal Sunday morning” with Louis takes them onto the ferry and into their cramped seats in the lower section inside, no upgrades to the top on the return trip. It’s hot and crowded, the water is choppy, and everyone’s slightly seasick by the time they finally reach Dar es Salaam. Then it’s the wild rush for taxis across to the other section of the port to catch the five-minute ferry across the Kurasini Creek to where Zayn waits on the sloping edge of the Kigamboni terminal. 

“Fuck, he’s gorgeous,” Liam mutters into Harry’s ear as they wait their turn to descend down the slippery staircase. 

There’s no change in Zayn’s expression, but Harry senses when he spots Liam. Both he and Liam freeze. “Smile, you idiot,” Harry prods, proud when Liam obeys and Zayn rewards him with a spreading smile of his own. 

“What if he hates me for Eric?” Liam hisses through his teeth. 

“He won’t.” Surely Zayn will understand. If not, Harry will have a chat with him. “Talk with him tonight, yeah? Promise me. Tomorrow’s a really long drive, so he’ll be exhausted in the evening.” 

“Okay. I will. Wish me luck.”

“Always, Li.”

*

It feels surreal returning to the same beach resort as before Zanzibar. Last time Harry was here, he was losing his mind with terror over Louis. When they check in, he asks for a beach hut on his own again for two people. Rather be prepared, then it’s up to Louis if he wants to join Harry or if he’d rather spend the night in his own tent with Zayn after their separation. Especially if he isn’t intending Zayn to join him in South America, which is something Harry needs to find out about. 

He’s relieved when he checks the duties roster to discover he’s legitimately on cooking today. It gives him the courage to go around to the front of the truck, where Louis is sorting through the clean clothes he left at the laundry while they were in Zanzibar. 

“Hey, Haz.”

“Hi, Harry,” Zayn calls from the cab. He’s stretched out with a beer, clearly talking with Louis through the open door. 

“Hi, Zayn.” Harry diverts to greet him. “How was your holiday away from us all?”

“Very peaceful.” Zayn grins, unexpectedly brilliant. “Got a lot of painting done.”

“Were you able to sort out the Americans?”

“Annie and Matt? Yeah, got them off the next day, back to the States. I’m glad we were here to help.”

“Me too. Good thing Louis stumbled upon them.”

“Yeah.” Zayn leans back, an arm behind his head, all comfortable and casual, so different from the man Harry initially met. “So, what did you think of Zanzibar?”

“Stone Town’s crazy. I liked the spice plantation.”

“And the beaches?”

How much does he know? He looks like he knows far too much for Harry’s comfort. “Best time of my life,” Harry says honestly.

That gets him a nod and a piercing once-over. “You look like you survived, anyway.”

Louis snorts out the front. “Leave him alone, Zayn. Haz, come over here. I think I got one of your shirts back from the wash.”

“More like he’s been wearing it for weeks.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “And isn’t that Pink Floyd shirt he has on now one of yours as well?”

“Louis can wear whatever he wants,” Harry informs him. “What’s mine is his.”

“That’s how it is?”

It would be that way forever, if Harry had his way. “That’s how it is.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Zayn lowers his lashes in a solemn blink, then raises them again. “Okay.”

It feels like some kind of seal of approval. Harry manages a quick smile, then slides around to the front of the truck where Louis brandishes a black t-shirt at him. “Is this yours?”

“You keep it.”

“How did I end up with it?”

“In Livingstone, when you stayed over.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve kept it all that time? I’ve been wearing it?”

“It looks good on you, honey. Better than on me.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Everything looks better on you,” Harry says softly. 

Louis glances around. “Especially those marks you left on me.”

“I want to see them.” He knew they’d darken as they set in, and he scans Louis, remembering where he placed each one. 

“Not now.”

“I got another hut. Like before. You don’t have to stay with me—”

“I want to.”

“Good.”

“I’ll show you tonight then, when we go to bed.”

He’s assured of one more evening looking forward to going to bed with Louis. “Okay. I actually came to find out about dinner, since I’m on cooking.”

“Aren’t you lucky.”

“Aren’t _you_ lucky. What are we having? Is there a new menu for the week? What about the shopping? Did Zayn do it?”

“You’ve missed this, haven’t you?”

“I only have a few more days.”

“Here.” Louis tosses him the keys. “Open up the kitchen hatches and investigate away. Zayn filled my shopping list this morning, but we didn’t need too much. Dinner’s catered for at the mountain resort we’re staying at tomorrow, then it’s just the day after to worry about. After that, it’s only the excursion to the Serengeti and food isn’t my problem. Or yours.”

He only has two days of cooking left? “Why not?”

“It’s fully catered by the local company in charge of the excursion.”

“It’s not you and Zayn?” Harry’s mouth drops open with horror. “Don’t tell me it’s like the Okavango all over again and you’re not coming.” He can’t possibly miss three of his remaining seven days with Louis.

“No, hey, Harry, no.” Louis’ there beside him, hand resting warmly on his back. “I’m coming, yeah? I’m still technically responsible for you for that section. Zayn doesn’t usually join us, although he might this time, but I always go.”

“There’s no more days without you?” Harry checks. 

“No more days without me.”

That was not a shock Harry needed right now when he feels so precarious. “Lou?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Do you think you could maybe bring your bags over to the beach hut now? I can help you. We can repack them there.”

It’ll be much hotter and stuffier than doing it in the open air beside the water, but Louis meets his eyes and understands what Harry’s really asking. “Sure,” he says casually. “Zayn? We’re going to the huts for a bit. Repacking and the like.”

Zayn’s head pokes out of the door. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Louis throws a pair of shorts at him. 

He catches them neatly. “Were you wanting to keep these or are we gonna start sharing clothes now? Harry, you’ve started a trend.”

Harry snatches them away. “No, I haven’t.” He shakes them out, refolding them. “Here, Lou. No sharing,” he tells Zayn.

Zayn laughs. “Got it. Have fun, you two. Don’t forget dinner!”

It doesn’t take long to grab Louis’ stuff. Harry carries his backpack, leaving Louis to bring the armful of laundry and the smaller bag he took to Zanzibar. They pass through the resort, pass the bar where most of the passengers are eagerly drinking up and enjoying the wifi, avoid being splashed by Niall, Alicia, Rolf and Annette, who are braving the late afternoon sun to bounce around the pool, and slip out the side gate through the trees to head for the beach huts. 

“I got us the same one as before,” Harry says as he swings open the gate and holds it for Louis, before locking it securely behind them. “I don’t think anyone’s stayed in it since we did last time, because the beds are still pushed together.” He couldn’t believe they forgot to part them, but he doubts the people who service the huts know who’s registered to stay in them. But it would be better to part them tomorrow, just in case, since Louis has to travel back through here in a couple of weeks. 

It’s barely been six hours since they left their room in the alleyways of Stone Town, but Harry collapses into Louis’ arms the moment the door closes behind them and they have privacy once again. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs into Louis’ sweaty neck. “I hate that we have to come all the way out here just to hug, but I’m glad we can.”

“So’m I. Come on, baby, come lie down with me for a sec.” 

Harry’s shaking, and he doesn’t know why. The transition, maybe. It’s been too abrupt and it’s left him adrift. Their skin sticks together, it’s far too hot to be so close, but he nestles into Louis’ body. “I missed you.”

“We have tonight.” Louis slides his leg between Harry’s so he can shift closer. “Tomorrow night too, we can probably swing it. We’re staying in permanent tents that are set up on narrow, secluded terraces on the side of the mountain. There are usually only two or three in each section, so we can get somewhere with Niall and Liam and no one will notice where I sleep.”

Two nights. Two more nights with Louis. 

“It’ll be harder after that, because all the tents will be grouped together like in the past, but I’ll see. If we all work together, maybe we can arrange something.”

It helps, knowing that. Gives Harry something to hold onto. “Thank you for not making me feel stupid.”

“Why would I do that, darling?”

“I’m being a bit of a baby.”

“You’re _my_ baby, though.” Louis’ mouth finds his, soft and undemanding. “Mine,” he says between kisses. “And I like you just the way you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: the next few chapters include some descriptions of illness. This was all written before coronavirus and has nothing to do with the virus, but please take care of yourself if you'll find any description of illness distressing. When I first came up with the idea for this fic nearly a year and a half ago, I had no idea I'd be posting it during a pandemic.
> 
> For anyone who'd rather wait until the end and then read the rest in one go, the posting schedule will be chapter 39 today, 40 tomorrow, 41-45 on Sunday, with 46 (which is an epilogue) on Monday. 
> 
> Spoiler alert (because I think it's necessary in these times): this fic has a happy ending.

**Day 39 - Louis**

**Dar es Salaam to Kilimanjaro, Tanzania**

How is Harry sleeping?

Louis tries to pull away in the hopes of getting some air between their sweat-soaked bodies, but Harry moans in his sleep and tugs him closer. Okay, Louis gets it. He’s feeling separation anxiety too. But he needs to sleep and he can’t in this airless, sweltering hut. 

Why don’t they have proper ventilation?

It would be cooler in his tent, where he could at least open the windows. But then he wouldn’t dare sleep wrapped up in Harry in a place this public if anyone could see in through the windows.

It’s so fucking hot. 

Is this what being cooked feels like? 

He needs to sleep.

Because if he doesn’t sleep, he’ll have to think about what Liam suggested and he hasn’t the faintest idea how to tackle it. 

It’s preposterous, of course.

Ludicrous.

Absurd.

So why does it resonate with something deep inside him?

He can’t go into the music business at his age. Liam’s ridiculous to suggest it. Liam certainly can’t expect Louis to take over as Niall’s manager. How’s Niall going to feel about that? 

How’s Niall going to feel at all if Liam absconds to Africa with Zayn.

Zayn. Who held Louis close in the back of the truck after they got back and whispered, “Of course I can,” when Louis choked out that he couldn’t possibly go to South America with him. What did Louis do to be loved this much by someone as wonderful as Zayn? 

He warned Zayn that Liam was going to talk to him about something, and he’d need to be open-minded and non-judgmental. 

“Will I like what he has to say?”

“The result of it.”

“Okay then.”

He wants that conversation to go well. He wants Liam with Zayn. He wants them both to have that, because it’s rare and it’s beautiful, and what he’s got from both of them is that it’s real. 

But that leaves Niall without a manager.

No, it doesn’t, don’t be stupid, Louis. There are any number of managers in England for Niall, surely, all far better than he could be. 

If he could learn overlanding, learn Africa, maybe he could learn—

He’s stupid to even consider it.

But Liam knows a lot and is willing to—

No.

He could go home.

Harry flinches away from Louis’ tight grasp. “Lou?”

“Shh, Haz, it’s okay. Keep sleeping.”

“’kay.”

Harry will be in England. Working, eventually, in the music business. 

They could even end up working together—

Don’t.

Don’t dream. 

Don’t even hope.

He _can’t._ He’d be rubbish at it.

He hasn’t been rubbish at overlanding and tour leading. 

But they can’t compare to what Liam’s talking about. Like a real job, in the city, with important people. Actual responsibility.

Africa’s the real world too.

Liam said he’d teach him. 

It’ll take time. Louis doesn’t have much in the way of savings. Niall and Liam share a flat in London, maybe he could bunk in with them while he learns, rather than being a burden on Harry—

What the fuck is he thinking?

That he could go to London with Harry. That he could maybe, just maybe, have a life there. Create a life there worth living. With Harry.

He might not have to let Harry go.

That would be worth any amount of work and effort and terrorising facing of his fears.

*

He falls into a bit of a daze, perhaps a flash of daydream or two about possible lives in London, but it’s still a relief when his alarm blares. 

“No,” Harry mumbles into the pillow.

It’s been too long since their last four o’clock start. They’re getting soft. “C’mon, princess, the day is passing.”

Harry’s hand gropes around until it bumps into Louis’ head, pulls him closer. “Miss you.”

“I’m still here.” It’s too easy to give into the temptation of lying down beside him again, despite the heat and the sweat. Really, he ought to have another shower before they leave, but if it’s a choice between smelling a little better during the thirteen-hour drive ahead or five more minutes with Harry, he chooses Harry.

“Always want you,” Harry mumbles into his hair. “Don’t leave me.”

He may not have to. “I’m not. I’m here.” 

But he has to get up; breakfast and Zayn and work await his appearance. There’s a new passenger starting today too, a Dutchwoman who’s been volunteering in Tanzania for the past year. He got her settled with a tent last night but he needs to do a proper welcome for her today. So much to do. He can’t lie here indefinitely wrapped up with Harry.

Harry wakes up with a start when Louis eases off the bed, having drifted off again. His hair is damp, curls drooping because they’re so wet with sweat, and he looks young and out of his depth as he blinks wildly at Louis and obviously tries to figure out where he is and what’s happening.

“We’re driving to Kilimanjaro today,” Louis reminds him. “We’re in Dar es Salaam.”

“Dar es Salaam.” Harry frowns. “No. Don’t wanna be.”

It’s so cute, Louis lets himself laugh. “It’s okay, babe, we’re leaving in an hour. So get up and put on some clothes. I’ll put the coffee on.”

“Coffee? There’s coffee?”

“There will be. If you’re not at the truck in ten minutes, I’m sending Zayn to find you.”

Harry duly shows up, and it’s like the old days, Louis making coffee for him when he’s only half awake, filling a bowl with cornflakes and milk and thrusting it into his hands. “Eat.”

“’kay.”

Adrenalin and muscle memory from a thousand mornings like this carry Louis through striking camp and packing the truck, but then the familiar engine starts up and Zayn swings them out of the resort and away from the cloying coast, and Louis loses hold on the world around him.

*

Silence.

Something’s wrong.

Louis jerks awake, scrabbling to look around him and nearly falling off the seat. Seat? Oh, of the truck. He’s in Rafiki but she’s not moving.

Everything is too bright.

He squints at his watch. Both hands point at the twelve. What does that mean in relation to his life. It’s midday? Where?

Fumbling for his sunglasses, he peers outside now that the brightness is reduced into visibility. Flat, dusty brown fields dotted with spindly bushes fade into smudges of mountains in the distance. 

Tanzania. Northern Tanzania. On the way to Mount Kilimanjaro. 

They left at five o’clock. How is it suddenly twelve? What happened?

Where is everyone?

Arrayed beneath an outcrop of scrubby trees, apparently. Louis skids to a halt at the sight. These are his passengers, he’s meant to be looking after them and feeding them, but apparently they’ve become self-sufficient in his absence. 

“Louis!”

Harry. Harry’s the self-sufficient one, of course. “Haz. What‘s going on?”

“Lunch.” Harry’s smile dims as he approaches. “Lou, you okay?”

“Didn’t sleep last night.” He needs to smile, make Harry stop looking so worried. “I think I just lost seven hours of my life.”

“Welcome back,” Zayn calls. “Harry wouldn’t let me wake you up.”

“I know you didn’t sleep much.” Harry pushes Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “You’re hot, and really pale.”

“Probably need to eat.” He slept too deeply and can’t pull out of the grogginess. “Likely dehydrated too.” 

“Sit down and I’ll make you some tea while you have some water. Liam?” Harry raises his voice as he pulls Louis across the group to the chair he leapt up from. “Can you get Louis some salad?”

“I can do it myself, Haz.”

“Not while we’re here.”

It’s unprofessional, but Louis doesn’t have the energy to argue. Obediently, he subsides onto the chair with the bottle of water Alicia presses into his hands. The first sip confirms that he’s parched.

“Harry’s right,” Alicia observes, “you look terribly pale.”

“I’ll be okay.” All the attention from his charges is excruciating. “So how’s the trip going, everyone?”

“It’s cool to see how everything changes.” Yolanda steps in from the other side of the circle. “The rainy season hasn’t come this far north yet, so it looks almost like a desert, but Zayn told us when the rains come it gets just as green and lush as it was in the south.”

“Yeah.” Louis is slower following that than he’d like. “We’re about a month ahead of the rain here, and last year’s rains weren’t great. But it’ll get a bit greener as we approach the mountains. Certainly cooler.”

“It’s already so much better than on the coast. I had rashes from that humidity in places nobody wants to know about!”

“Yeah, same,” several others chorus. 

“We won’t run into humidity like that for the rest of the trip,” he assures them. “The worst is over.

It doesn’t really feel like the worst is over, is the thing. At least not for him. He struggles through the salad Harry brings, only forcing himself to the end because of Harry’s anxious hovering, downs two bottles of water plus a comforting cup of Yorkshire brewed to perfection. The fact he doesn’t feel like he needs to relieve himself after all of that is slightly worrying. He’s scarily dehydrated. 

“I like that you know about the seasons everywhere,” Harry says as he efficiently packs up Louis’ kitchen. Everyone else has scattered to find a bush for a last-minute bathroom break before they continue on their journey, and Louis leans against the bark of the tree giving him shade and tries to concentrate on Harry’s words. “It must make you feel, I don’t know, closer to the earth or something.”

Louis’ never thought about it in those terms. It’s practical knowledge, since rain has a direct effect on the quality of his transient life in tents.

What might it be like to leave the tents behind and create a stable family home?

“I’m gonna be sick,” he gasps, and leans around the tree. Shit, so much for hydrating himself. 

Both Harry and Zayn look worried when he sits back up. Harry provides another bottle of water for Louis to clean out his mouth, then approaches with a cool, damp cloth. It’s all Louis can do to get it away from him and keep him from wiping down Louis’ face as if he were a kid. 

“Headache,” he says. He’s not certain, it doesn’t feel like it normally does, but his head’s definitely throbbing. His skin doesn’t usually prickle like this, flashing between ice and fire. Could be a headache coupled with dehydration and poor sleep. He’s never had three bad headaches on a single trip before. It’s more like three in a year. Maybe emotional turmoil is a trigger? 

He’d feel embarrassed and annoyed with himself for being so weak if he wasn’t so devastatingly tired.

Zayn and Harry are looking at each other, conducting a conversation without words that Louis can’t follow. They’re not supposed to be able to do that. Not with each other. After a moment, Zayn nods and motions towards the truck with his head. 

“Come on,” Harry says, taking the cloth back and tossing it to Zayn. “Let me help you get back in the truck.”

Louis goes because it’s easier than arguing. The step looks like a mountain to climb up to his seat, but as he lifts his arm to grasp the handle to heave himself up, Harry steps closer. 

“No one’s around, Lou, I checked. Can I give you a hug?”

Louis should check too. People in Africa have an astonishing habit of materialising out of nowhere. But if no one appeared during the meal, that’s a pretty good sign there’s no one within sight. “Please.”

“You’re welcome to come sleep in the back with me,” Harry says into his hair, chest rumbling against Louis’, “but Zayn thinks you’d be better up front.”

“’m in charge. Shouldn’t look weak.”

“If you’re sick—”

“Headache. Pills.” He still has what Zayn scared up for him in Chitimba. “Better after more sleep.”

“I know you didn’t sleep last night. Sorry. I should’ve let you have your tent.”

“Better with you.”

“Yeah?”

Louis burrows closer into Harry’s warmth to soothe his sudden chill. “Always. You okay, love?”

“I’m fine. Keeping everyone occupied with games, like you did last week, since it’s such a long day driving. Liam and Niall are helping. We were singing for the last two hours, I think.”

“Good. That’s great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

How did he do these trips without Harry as his deputy? He always managed, but he’s pathetically grateful that he doesn’t have to on this one. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah. Nothing major going on that you need to know about. If there is, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

Harry physically lifts him up into the cab. Louis thinks about fighting for his dignity, but by the time he tries to struggle, he’s already in place. His forced smile turns natural as he reaches down to smooth the furrow between Harry’s eyebrows. “Don’t worry about me, darlin’. The pills, a bit more sleep, more water, and I’ll be right.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich and give it to Zayn. You need to eat with those pills.”

“You’re a good boy.”

The concern darkening Harry’s eyes lightens a little. “Always, Lou.”

*

The next time he surfaces, the clock on the dash reads four-twenty-seven and the mountains are a lot closer. 

“Good morning,” Zayn says cheerfully.

Scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Louis reaches for his sunglasses. “Where are we?”

“Nearly at Mwanga. We’re making good progress. How’re you feeling?”

Louis considers. “Better.” The sleep has helped. “Not perfect, but I’ll do.” He’d better fucking do. That display at lunchtime was quite enough. 

“You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Harry keeps knocking on the hatch to check on you.”

Of course he does. Although moving sets off little prickles of pain across his limbs, Louis scoots around in the seat so he can stick his head through the hatch. “Haz?” he hisses.

Half the truck is asleep, but Katrina notices him from halfway back. “Harry?” 

Harry scurries down the aisle. “Lou!”

“Just wanted to tell you I’m awake and I’m okay.”

“Good.” Crouched on the floor, he reaches forward to feel Louis’ forehead. “You’re still hot, though.”

“It’s thirty degrees out there, of course I’m hot. You okay?”

“Yeah, most people have been sleeping since lunch. I’ve finished off some songs.”

“Great.” Louis gives him an encouraging smile. “I want to hear them later.”

“We stopped once at a garage. I got you some chocolate biscuits and a Crème Soda. The sugar will probably help. Do you want them?”

This dizziness is likely from a drop in blood sugar, so he agrees. Harry fetches them eagerly. Louis wants to kiss him thank you, but Danny and Duncan are watching with amusement from right above Harry’s head and Louis’ too self-conscious about the fact that Harry is technically still a passenger. “Thanks, babe.”

“Just tell me if there’s anything else I can do.”

“You’ve been great today.” He tosses the packet of biscuits behind him onto his seat and presses the can, cold from where Harry must’ve been keeping it in the icebox, against his hot cheeks. “We’re close now, just over an hour to go. Zayn will drop you guys at the bottom of the mountain we’re staying on, and you’ll get a chance to stretch your legs and explore a bit on the way up.”

“Sounds good.” Harry squeezes his shoulder. “You keep resting, but thank you for letting me know you’re awake and feeling better.”

So precious.

“I hope you’re planning to share,” Zayn says, nodding towards the biscuits as Louis resettles himself in his seat. He was using Harry’s hoodie as a pillow again. He can’t even remember the last time he saw the hoodie because it’s been hot for so long. 

“Help yourself.” Because Zayn’s busy with driving a truck down a highway and keeping them alive, he rips open the top and holds it out before taking one for himself. It tastes good, and he crunches through two before snapping open the cool Crème Soda.

“Better drink water as well as that.”

“Thanks, mum.”

Zayn chuckles. “You must be feeling better if your sarcasm’s returned.”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse not to have to endure this arduous drive.” It’s one of his least favourite driving days, very boring scenery, always unpleasantly hot. 

“Or you were trying to get out of interrogation.”

“Interrogation? I have an interrogation of my own to conduct, thank you, Zayn.”

Zayn puts his hand out for another biscuit. “So who’s going first?”

“As the person who wasn’t well all day, I’d say me.”

“Of course you do. Fine. Fire away.”

It takes a moment to resituate himself more comfortably, legs up on the dash where they belong, hoodie wadded up behind his head so it’s not jolting around on the bumpy road. “Did you talk to Liam last night?”

“He had a lot of fascinating things to say.”

So they did talk, good. “Such as?”

“Such as alphabet choices and you and England.”

Hang on, this is meant to be Louis’ interrogation. “We’re not talking about me now.”

“You asked what Liam said.”

“He said more than that, though.”

“He said a lot.” Zayn’s voice softens. “You know about it, I gather?”

“About Eric?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you mad?”

“How can I be mad?”

“He cheated on you.”

“No, he didn’t. We had no promises between us. It was the most sensible thing he could’ve done, to be honest.”

“Gone off and slept with someone else to figure out how he feels about you?” Louis tries to imagine if Harry had decided to seduce Eric to see if he wanted to be with Louis. He’s not a fighter by nature, despite a few boxing lessons once, but he doesn’t think he’d be welcoming Harry back with open arms. 

“It’s not love at first sight for all of us, Louis.”

“It wasn’t love at first sight for me.”

“Do you even know how much you told me about Harry-the-singer-songwriter-photographer-with-gorgeous-green-eyes-brilliant-smile-so-sweet-and-precious-Styles before I met him? He was also the only passenger you’ve ever introduced me to personally.”

“Is that so?”

“You’ll point me out by name to people sometimes, but you’ve never actually introduced me to them.”

“Huh.” Imagine that.

“I also saw how you looked at him sauntering around in that yellow swimsuit of his.”

And now all Louis can think about is peeling that yellow swimsuit off in order to fuck Harry for the first time. He can’t live a life where he never does that again. Which brings him back to the original subject of Liam. “Did Liam tell you about tour leading?”

A knowing, narrow-eyed glance tells him Zayn knows exactly why he’s not going down the yellow swimsuit road. “Are you really that eager for me not to go to South America?”

“You won’t need to, if _I_ don’t.”

“Ah,” Zayn sounds triumphant. “So you’re considering his music industry suggestion?”

It sounds terrifying said aloud. “Tell me honestly, Zayn. You know me, you know everything about me. Do you honestly think I could do something like that?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even think about it!”

“I did, after Liam mentioned it. I’ve had all day to think about it, since you weren’t helping me stay awake.”

“And?”

“I asked Liam about it, how serious he was in suggesting it. If it was just talk in the heat of the moment.”

Louis feels strangely nervous. “What did he say?”

“That he wouldn’t suggest that to most people, but he’s got to know you and what he knows makes him think you could do it. If you wanted to. He actually has a five-page plan he scribbled down.”

“A plan for me?”

“Yeah. I suspect by now it’s turned into twenty pages, since he’s had all day to develop it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You love music, Louis. You always have a bunch of new playlists for every trip, and you know every detail about every song. In uni, you were into the music scene, I remember you telling me that. You even contemplated joining the industry as a singer, if I recall.”

“Teenage pipe dreams.”

“Liam talked to me a lot about what he does on the way to Dar, and I can imagine you doing all of that, and more. If you want to. You don’t have to.” Zayn fixes him with dark, intent eyes for longer than Louis feels is necessarily safe, even on a dead straight, empty road. “I will stay in Africa if you truly want me to, so don’t think Liam’s plan is the only way you can save me from leaving. I won’t put that on you.”

This is too much for Louis to think about. “What do you think about Liam joining you in my place?”

“He talks nearly as much as you do.”

“Won’t give you too much time to miss me, then.”

Zayn chuckles, as intended, but then he falls silent. “It’s not something I thought I wanted,” he says after several minutes of focus on the road. “A relationship. I’m not really into that, you know? I never much saw the point of all the fuss.”

“And now?”

“And now I’ve met Liam. And he makes me want it. With him.”

“On the road?”

“I asked him about London, about my art. He wanted me to come there, exhibit there. Turn myself into an urban success with my paintings of the wild. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t. I thought maybe he judged me a failure as an artist because I won’t. I don’t want to compete on that stage. That’s not the point of my art. I don’t need fame or wealth from it.”

“Does he understand that now?”

“He said before he came to Africa, he thought that was the only option, the only way to succeed. That everyone should want to be the most they could be, and that that most was measured in fame and wealth in Western society. But being out here has changed him. He values things differently now.”

Louis gets that. Africa does that to you. You discover who you really are out here. 

Zayn continues what is probably the longest speech Louis’ ever heard him give. “He said he thinks it wouldn’t be the same for you as it was for him, working in music. He wanted to make people famous and successful, the best singers they could be.”

“Isn’t that what I’d be meant to do?”

“He said you’d make them the best people they could be.”

That hits hard.

“And, therefore, the industry a better place.”

Jesus. Louis never imagined being significant enough to affect an entire industry. 

When he was nine, he stepped onto his first football field and knew that he could play. At nineteen, he dived into his first wave with a surfboard and knew that he could surf. Right now, there’s a similar certainty blazing to life inside his chest. 

He could do this. 

He _could._

He knows it.

*

He manages to stay awake while Zayn winds them up through the foothills to the base of the larger foothill of Mount Kilimanjaro that will house them for the night, but it only takes hoisting his bag into the back of the pick-up truck that will cart their belongings up to the campsite to tell him that he hasn’t a hope of making it up the track on foot. 

“Hey, Louis.” Mike Carter, an Australian who works for the camp, comes around the front. “Need a ride, mate?”

“Yes,” Harry says. He didn’t want Louis to do his own hoisting in the first place. “He’s not feeling well. Shall I come with you, Lou?”

Christ, what’s Mike going to think? “No, ba—love.” Definitely can’t call Harry _babe_ in front of him. “Take pictures of the forest for me. Get Niall up a tree.” He’s horribly conscious of the way he monopolised Harry in Zanzibar. Did Harry get anything of Niall there at all? 

“That’s a good idea,” Niall calls from where he’s got both his bag and Alicia’s. “I’m even wearing green, so I’ll fit right in. Come on, H, let’s get going so we have time before it’s too dark.”

Louis wills Harry not to make a fuss in front of Mike. Mike, who knows all the overland teams and no doubt knows all about the mess in Cape Town and would be equally happy to spread rumours up and down the continent about Louis and a curly male passenger. 

“Okay. See you up there.” Harry flashes a smile that says he wants to hug Louis but will wait, then scampers off after Niall and Alicia. 

“Friend from the UK,” Louis says, shrugging off Mike’s interest. “First time in Africa.”

Mike watches them go, Zayn joining them with Liam. “Must be nice to have friends on a trip.”

“It has been.”

There’s no pity in Mike’s eyes. He looks honestly glad for Louis. He knows the circumstances and all he’s showing is gratification that Louis had support. That is—not what Louis expected. 

“So a lift’s okay?”

“Sure, mate. What’s wrong, touch of the flu?”

That’s exactly what Louis’ been trying not to fear. “Remnant of a headache from the humidity down in Dar.”

Everyone struggles with Dar es Salaam’s humidity, and Mike nods. “Hop in and we’ll be there in ten.”

*

He checks everyone in with Gloria and Joyce, who run the permanent camp at the top, establishes that they don’t require any help in preparing tonight’s dinner, grabs a bottle of water and makes his way carefully down the steep, narrow paths through the trees to the terraces holding the tents. He was right, there are two secluded in a far corner, with only two more on the same terrace. It’s an effort, but he manages to haul his bag down to the furthest tent to lay claim with various belongings to all four before heading back up for a soothing warm shower. Finally he has the combination of hot water and cold air that’s been so scarce on the trip. He’s just pulling on Harry’s hoodie when he hears the sound of exuberant voices indicating the arrival of his passengers, so he strolls outside.

“Evening, all.” He’s a professional. He can hide his shakiness from them for long enough to make them feel secure in their latest new surroundings. “You made it safely up the mountain, I see?”

“It’s really pretty here, Louis,” Katrina enthuses. “And Zayn said we’ll get to see more tomorrow?” 

“Yes.” Surreptitiously, he leans against a the rail of a broken-down fence. “There’s a sunrise walk to a great spot to view the summit of Kilimanjaro, then after breakfast Mike will take you to visit a local village nearby. You’ll visit a school, get to shop at their market, and they’ll provide you with a traditional northern Tanzanian lunch.”

“You won’t join us at the village?” Annette enquires. 

“Zayn and I will wait for you further down.” He can see Harry’s colour rising at the thought of half a day parted from Louis, but unlike earlier in the tour he thankfully keeps his objections to himself in public. “Our passengers usually view this as a very special part of the trip, so I’ll be excited to hear about your adventures and impressions when we meet for the afternoon drive to Arusha.”

“And then after Arusha?” Renato asks, voice so soft Louis strains to hear him. 

“The trip to the Serengeti!”

“Yay!” everyone cheers, as he’d intended. 

Zayn catches his eye through the crowd and winks.

“Right,” Louis says, as the tumult dies down. “Tents are down that way, everything’s pre-erected and ready for you, so just pick a tent and dump your bags. It’s perfectly safe here, no need to worry about locking anything, just latch them in case of wild animals. Ablutions are behind me. Up that path is the main building, where you can hang out on a rooftop terrace to enjoy the sunset and buy some drinks, and Gloria and Joyce will feed you in about an hour. They’ll also tell you how this working farm protects the local environment, and catch you up on a few Kili facts. Any more questions, anyone?”

“How are you doing, Louis?” Elise asks. 

Oh right, damn, she’s a nurse. He smiles brightly. “Much better, thanks. I think it was just lack of sleep that got to me.”

“So you’ll be joining us for dinner?”

Food is the last thing he wants. “I still have a touch of a headache, so I might lie down. Rest up while I can before the excitement of the Serengeti.”

“The Serengeti!” Niall whoops, and everyone cheers again and Elise stops studying him with her professional hat on. Go, Niall.

*

Harry’s a little harder to put off. 

Louis shows them his chosen terrace, and as expected, Alicia claims the fourth tent next to Liam and Niall, leaving Louis, Zayn and Harry to the two in the corner. Harry makes no bones about dropping his bag in the same tent as Louis’, then he kneels down on the grass beside where Louis has taken a seat on the decrepit wooden picnic table with inbuilt benches half covered by thick green bushes. 

“How are you, really?”

“I’m fine, Harry. I wouldn’t lie to you, not about this.” Leaving out that he fears it’s more than just a headache doesn’t count as lying, does it? “I just need to sleep more.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’ll catch up tomorrow. I still feel a bit nauseous.”

“I’ll bring you something.”

It’s easier to give in and worry about eating it later. “I brought the chocolate biscuits. Maybe some fruit?”

“Fruit is good. I’ll bring more water down too. You’re probably still dehydrated.” Harry presses the back of his hand against Louis’ forehead. “You’re still burning up. You weren’t like this before with your headaches.”

“I’m definitely dehydrated. Don’t worry, Harry.” He takes Harry’s hand, presses a kiss against the palm. “It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

Harry comes back with two bananas and a handful of plums, along with four bottles of water. Louis’ only vaguely awake. He thinks he lets Harry feed him. Mortifying if that’s true, but maybe it’s a dream. He’s not entirely clear. 

Zayn’s there. Or maybe not. Louis thinks he hears his voice. 

Then he’s under his fluffy blanket, with Harry rubbing his back and shoulders. It feels good, soothing, but also hurts. Like, his skin hurts. Really unhelpful, thank you, when he wants to enjoy Harry’s touch.

He manages to keep it together until Harry’s wound around him and fallen into sleep, then Louis lies there shivering and shaking, getting colder and colder on the rooftop of Africa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.
> 
> If you want to talk to me about anything (to do with this fic or anything else), you can find me at sunsrainbows on twitter and sunshineandhisrainbows on tumblr.


	40. Chapter 40

**Day 40 - Harry**

**Kilimanjaro to Arusha, Tanzania**

Come morning, Louis is clearly ill. He’s shivered in Harry’s arms all night, he’s pale and sweating, and looks like he’s going to fall over when he tries to stand up.

“You’re ill, Louis.” 

“I’m not,” Louis snaps. “I just have a bit of a headache. I’m fine.” 

It looks like a lot more than a headache to Harry. “I’m not going on the village walk,” he decides. He’s already skipped the sunrise walk to watch the dawn break over Kilimanjaro; what does a village matter? 

“No,” Louis says, brows snapping together. “You’re not missing out on the village. I know you’ll enjoy it and appreciate engaging with the local culture. And you need to photograph Niall.”

Stuff Niall, Harry thinks.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll get some rest and meet you afterwards.” 

He’s implacable, tiny and pale and all wrapped up in Harry’s hoodie, mouth set, eyes hard. What is Harry to do with him? He’s slept for more of the last twenty-four hours than he’s been awake. Clearly rest isn’t the solution.

“Are you up to breakfast?”

Louis’ shudder answers that one. 

“Have some chocolate biscuits, okay? I’ll take the bags up and then bring you some tea.”

Everyone crowds around him when he enters the dining area. “How’s Louis?” “Is Louis okay?” “Is he feeling better this morning?” “Did he sleep well?” “Is he coming to breakfast?” “Is he better?” “Is he all right?” “How’s his head today?”

Poor Lou, who’s been trying so hard to hide it. “He’s okay,” Harry says loudly so everyone can hear. “He’s not better, but he’s up and I’m making him tea.” He pulls out his emergency stash of Yorkshire tea and looks for the kettle. “I think he’ll take today easy while we go on our village walk, and hopefully he’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Does he need a doctor?” “We’re going to a town later, right? Can he see someone there?” “If he’s still feeling nauseous, I have pills that can help with that.” “He can’t just take someone else’s pills, stupid.” “They’re over-the-counter, not prescription.” “Should I make him some toast?”

It’s because they love him, Harry knows, but he still feels like sharing too much about Louis’ condition is violating his privacy. 

“All right, everyone.” Luckily, Liam takes charge. “Let’s give Harry some space so he can take care of Louis. I know we’re all worried, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s tough, our Louis.”

“He’s a Yorkshireman,” Duncan reminds them.

“Right!” Liam agrees.

“Take him some more fruit.” Gloria, the cook responsible for their delicious dinner last night, appears beside him with another bowl of bananas and plums. “These are grown right here, full of everything he needs.”

Fruit, good thinking. “Thanks.” He takes the bowl.

When he gets back to the picnic table outside their tent, Louis hasn’t moved. The morning sun rests soft fingers across his face, his drawn cheeks, his closed eyelids. He’s glowing, and not just from perspiration. 

“Hey, honey,” Harry says softly as he approaches.

Louis eyes flicker open. “I’ve missed you calling me that.”

It’s barely been a day since the end of their private world together. 

“I brought you fruit, but you can take it with you and have it later. Here’s your tea.”

“Tea’s good.”

Harry sits down cross-legged on the damp grass in front of Louis, watching him take tiny sips. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” A few more sips in, Louis asks, “How’s everyone?”

“They’re fine. Liam’s keeping them under control.”

“Told him he could.”

“Yeah? When was this?”

“Stone Town. He can tour lead.”

Ah, part of their private talk in the Gardens that Liam didn’t want to share about yesterday. “Not yet,” he kept saying. “I need to talk to Louis again first.” Part of it involved Louis, what, telling Liam he could do Louis’ job? Why would Liam want to know that?

“Need to talk to you, Haz.” Louis blinks hazily over his mug. “Not now, not enough time, but later. Shit to discuss.”

“Okay.” That sounds ominous. “Should I be worried?”

“No!” Louis tea sloshes from the violence of his response. He manages to still it. “No worrying. Promise me, babe, no worrying today at all.”

“On one condition. That you promise me you’ll go see a doctor in Arusha this afternoon if you get worse.”

“I won’t be worse. I’m already feeling better.”

It’s a lie, Harry’s pretty sure. “Then the promise won’t cost you anything.”

“Fine. I promise.”

“Then so do I.”

Louis will be with Zayn. If anything happens to him while Harry’s stuck up the mountain in the village, Zayn will make sure he’s taken care of. 

*

Maybe the village is fascinating. It could be. Harry tries his best to keep his promise to Louis and make the most of their introduction to life in a Tanzanian mountain village, but it’s hard for anything to penetrate the Louis-shaped focus of his brain. Eventually he gives up, figuring that as long as he has some appropriate photographs of Niall to present to Louis upon descent, he can mentally check out of his surroundings.

If anything, Louis probably just has a mild bout of the flu. Being ill on the road isn’t ideal for recovery, but all he really needs is time to rest and he’ll be fine. There’s no need for Harry to agonise over anything. They can pick up some tablets in Arusha to take the edge off the worst of the symptoms for him—wait, Arusha! They’ll be in a proper city, the third largest in the country, if he recalls Liam’s guidebook correctly. Harry can find a decent hotel and give Louis the cool, dark, restful room he needs to recuperate for the next few days. It couldn’t be more ideal timing, really, since the tour into the Serengeti returns to Arusha. Zayn can accompany everyone in Louis’ place, and Harry can make sure Louis recovers properly in a conducive setting, close to medical help if required.

Making the decision relieves his mind sufficiently for him to enjoy playing football with the kids at the school, and since he forgot about breakfast for himself this morning, he ignores his vegetarian principles and fills up on the hearty beef stew offered for lunch, scraping it into his mouth with handfuls of white ugali, the Tanzanian version of the cornmeal pap served in their township meal so many weeks ago in Cape Town. 

It’s hard to believe he’s the same person as that scared, insecure boy who was so disconcerted by the South African township. He thinks about it as they follow their Australian guide back down the mountain through endless tiny cornfields tucked between pockets of forest. Not even six weeks have passed. In that time, he’s written two dozen songs, taken several thousand photographs, and learned how to cook on the road, how to manage a budget and plan menus and balance nutritional needs for large groups. He’s also learned how to live with no routine, facing constant uncertainty and challenge, and look how well he’s done. He wouldn’t say he’s thrived, he still prefers a life he has a measure of control over and can organise, but he no longer flounders and sinks, no matter how deep the water into which he’s thrown. 

Six weeks ago, the thought of being stranded in northern Tanzania with a sick boyfriend would have thrown him into turmoil, yet here he is calmly formulating a strategy to deal with it. 

He can cope. 

*

He finds Louis in a coffee shop. Or just outside, to be accurate, relaxing beside a table on a tiny balcony on the far side of the shop, which juts out over a jagged, forested ravine. A river tinkles along at the bottom, perhaps with a couple of waterfalls, and what sounds like the singing of a choir drifts through the tangled trees. 

“Hey, love.” Louis smiles up from his cup of tea as though he hadn’t been snarling the last time Harry saw him. “Did you enjoy the village?”

He looks better. Clearer eyes, less pale, not sheened with sweat. He’s still cuddled in Harry’s hoodie, but that makes sense with the cool breeze filtering through the forest. “It was great,” Harry says automatically. He wants to assess Louis’ temperature, but doesn’t want to risk Louis snapping at him again. 

“Did you get a drink?” Louis looks down at his empty hands. “They have cold drinks here as well as coffee. Go and get something, then come tell me about your morning. We have about half an hour before we have to leave.”

“I know.” The only reason he found Louis is because he bumped into Zayn. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” He looks like old Louis, normal Louis, eyes sparkling and bright instead of bloodshot and hazy. Has it really been this easy? Was he just overtired? “Where are the others?”

“Mostly queuing for the public bathroom.” It’s a single drop toilet in a tiny shack. Harry is clearly dehydrated himself, neglecting his own health during the past day out of worry for Louis’, since he didn’t feel any need to go. “Then I think they’ll trickle in here until Zayn calls us.” Since there’s only one other table on the balcony and it’s unoccupied, he feels safe in resting a hand on Louis’ shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’ll get a drink. Can I get you more tea? Some cake, perhaps?”

At least Louis’ stopped looking repulsed by the thought of food. “I had two slices of banana bread earlier—it’s excellent, you should try it—but more tea would be good, thanks.”

Louis didn’t have banana bread, Harry discovers when he orders some from the friendly ladies inside. He’s just lied outright to Harry’s face. Shit. What else is he lying about? 

Should Harry confront him about it? Or will he just clam up and cut Harry off like he did this morning?

He returns outside with half a loaf of banana bread and two bottles of water. Sitting down, he places both in the middle of the little table between them. “They’re bringing your tea and my coffee. I got extra banana bread, in case you wanted more. I don't know how long you’ve been here.” He keeps his expression as bland as possible so it doesn’t reveal anything to Louis’ searching gaze. “And I got a water for us both. I haven’t been drinking much either and I need to catch up.”

Louis holds his eyes for a moment, and Harry’s pretty sure Louis knows that Harry knows Louis lied. But instead of getting huffy, he sits back with his lips twitching at the corners. “Thank you, Haz. I could probably have another slice.”

Good. Harry takes a slice for himself and pushes the plate closer to Louis so he doesn’t have to reach too far. They chew in silence while one of the ladies inside brings their hot drinks, and the song the choir’s singing soars up to a glorious climax.

“Who’s singing?”

“I dunno.” Louis reaches for a second slice. “It sounds like they’re outdoors on the other side of the ravine. Maybe a village meeting? Or a school? I haven’t heard it here before.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Yeah.”

A second song begins, lower and more of a chant than the first. “It’s lovely here.”

“I like this stop. On the way south, it’s a chance to mentally prepare for the chaos of Dar and Zanzibar to come, and on the trip north, it’s a blessed relief after the humidity.”

“I wonder what you’re going to learn in South America.” Harry can’t stop thinking about it. Everything will be new for Louis there. Will he find the challenge exciting or overwhelming? Probably exciting, since nothing seems to unsettle him. “You’ll find new favourites. Some random mountain that we’ve never heard of could become your new place of blessed relief after a difficult stop we don’t know yet exists. The Amazon’s probably hot and humid, since the equator runs through it. I wonder if it’ll be more comfortable than Dar es Salaam. Or how safe it is. Is South America safer than Africa, do you know? I hardly know anything about it.”

“About South America,” Louis says. He sets down the rest of his banana bread slice. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Me? About South America?”

“About whether I go.”

Adrenalin pulses through Harry. “You mean—you might not? Why? Is this because of Zayn? Liam said you didn’t want him to go.” In his worry about Louis’ illness, he’d forgotten all about the strangeness of Liam’s conversation with Louis. But Louis said he needed to ask Harry. 

Louis takes a fortifying sip of his fresh tea. “What would you think,” he begins, gazing out at the ravine, “if instead of going to South America, I came to—”

“Louis!” Yolanda bursts onto the balcony, Katrina and Renato at her heels. “They said inside you were out here. How are you?”

Harry shrinks back against the wall as Louis transforms back into Tour Leader Louis, reassuring and bright. Rolf and Annette and the new girl, Esther, show up next, Duncan and Danny not far behind, and that’s it, the end of his private time with Louis. 

Louis’ at work, he reminds himself sternly. Zanzibar felt like a shared holiday between them, but now Louis is back at work and Harry has to respect that. Louis isn’t only his.

It isn’t too far to Arusha. He’ll corner Louis tonight to finish their conversation, and in the meantime try to keep himself from dreaming that Louis was going to finish that question with the word ‘England’.

*

It’s hard for Harry to tell if Louis actually is better. He would almost believe it, except for the fact Louis lied about the banana bread. On the other hand, he saw for himself Louis eat a slice and a half that Harry brought him, and he didn’t throw up afterwards, and he finished his tea and slipped back, seemingly effortlessly, into being Tour Leader Louis again, so maybe he’s fine. Maybe it really was just a headache and exhaustion from the heat of the coast keeping him awake.

“Did Louis talk to you yet?” Liam asks as the truck lumbers her way west to Arusha.

“About what?”

“Just something I mentioned to him. Zayn said—I don’t want to say anything unless he does.”

“He was about to, but then everyone turned up. You know what he wants to ask me?”

“Not entirely.” Liam glances out the window as if the barren grey plain to their left is full of mesmerising scenery. Clearly, he doesn’t intend to share his knowledge with Harry. 

Harry forces down his panicked curiosity. He can wait for Arusha, it’s only a couple of hours away now. “So you talked to Zayn? How did that go?”

Niall looks at Liam, who is still staring out the window, seemingly not planning to answer. “Liam’s considering a career change.”

Liam’s head snaps around. “Niall.”

“Niall knows too?” Harry tries not to feel hurt, but he knows Liam can see it on his face.

Liam sighs. “It’s a bit complicated.”

“Not too complicated for Niall, obviously.”

“Well, it involves him.”

Of course it would, Harry realises, since Liam’s career is managing Niall. “You’re leaving Niall?”

Niall chuckles when Liam winces. “He is.”

“Not entirely,” Liam protests. “And none of it’s cast in stone yet. It’s still in early stages of discussion.”

“What is? What are you doing instead?”

“Liam’s considering moving to Africa to become a tour leader.”

The words make sense individually, but what they add up to doesn’t compute. “But how—why—because of Zayn?”

“He doesn’t want to move to London,” Liam says, “and I understand why. His life is here.”

“But he said he was going to South America with Louis.” Is this why Louis’ changed his mind about South America? “Is that why Louis’ not going anymore?”

“He told you he isn’t?”

“I don’t know, he said something about _instead of going to South America_ , but didn’t finish.” Harry feels as hazy as Louis looked this morning. “But if you’re with Zayn—is Louis going to—what’s Louis going to do?”

“It’s not for me to tell you. I’m not even sure myself, H. I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

It’s something that Harry might hope for. Does that mean....could it possibly be England? Does Louis want to go home after all? Liam’s right, it’s for Louis to tell Harry, but how is he supposed to wait now, knowing this is a real possibility? “Okay,” he says, amazed that his voice sounds normal and isn’t flying apart with excitement. “Tell me about you and Zayn, though. So you’re together? You plan to be? He didn’t mind about Eric?”

The conversation about Zayn and Liam’s new plans takes up the rest of the journey to Arusha. Niall doesn’t seem particularly bothered about losing his manager, just shrugs and insists everything will work out. Harry isn’t sure how to take that. He needs to get Niall away from Liam and dig deeper, make sure Niall’s not just putting on a front to ensure Liam doesn’t feel too guilty to follow his new dream. Liam maintains that he isn’t abandoning Niall, that he’ll still be involved, and sure, Harry gets that the internet makes a lot of things possible, but he can’t see how that’s going to work. Liam as a tour leader he can see, though, especially when Liam starts talking about luxury tours. That’s more Liam’s style than tents, although he seems perfectly happy to begin at this level. 

It’s late afternoon when they pull into Arusha. The city sits beneath Mount Mehru, Africa’s fifth tallest mountain, according to Liam’s guidebook, surprisingly modern-looking without the menace of the dusty streets of Dar es Salaam. Zayn draws Rafiki to a halt in a small parking lot beside a large supermarket and Louis pops through the hatch. 

“Hello, hello!”

“Hi, Louis,” everyone choruses, and Harry catches himself in the process of darting down the aisle to get to him. 

“How’re you doing?” Yolanda asks.

“Good, thanks.” It’s the cheeky grin Harry remembers from early on in the tour. Does that mean it’s fake, part of Tour Leader Louis’ repertoire? “How are you, Yolanda?”

“I’m good too, mate.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Louis beams at everyone. “As you see, not nearly the marathon drive of yesterday. Welcome to Arusha. This is a major tourist hub, the closest city to seven or eight major national parks in the area. As you know, tomorrow we’ll be heading deep into the Serengeti via the Ngorongoro Crater. This is your opportunity to load up on snacks and other necessities,” he indicates the Shoprite beside them, “or pretend you’re in Europe for a bit at one of the cafés over there.” A strip of cafés with outdoor wooden furniture lines the far side of the car park behind bushes bursting with bright flowers. “I can’t personally recommend their coffee, but I’ve heard it’s excellent. This is your last opportunity for bought coffee until Nairobi, people, so make the most of it. We’ll be here for an hour before heading to our campsite just outside town. We _will_ leave you behind if you’re not back in time, and nobody wants to miss the Serengeti, am I right?”

Everyone cheers, and Louis flinches. It’s minuscule, but Harry catches it. Yup. This is Louis putting on an act. 

Instead of waiting for everyone else to file out first, the way he usually does, Harry bounds down to the door and wrenches it open. He darts around to the front, because no way is Louis sneaking off without him.

Louis jumps when he turns around from closing his truck door. “Haz!”

“Hey.” Rushing in with demands the way he wants to will be counterproductive, so Harry forces himself to sound casual. It’s cool up here among the mountains, but Louis’ face is lined with sweat and the colour he had at Kilimanjaro has drained away. “Do you have plans or can we hang out?”

“You mean, am I going to go to a doctor or can you try to persuade me to?”

Harry drops the pretence at casualness. “Do you need a doctor, Lou?”

“Fuck.” Louis sags back against the closed door. “Look, I’m not gonna lie to you, I know I’m sick. It’s not just a headache or dehydration. I’m pretty sure I have the flu. I don’t get it often, but.” He shrugs. “It’s not the worst, though. I’ll be okay. Harry, listen to me, I will, yeah? I’m not lying to you. It won’t be a fun few days, but I’ll get some medication from a pharmacy around the corner and take it easy during the Serengeti trip. I’m not leading it anyway.”

“Let me get you a hotel room,” Harry says, trying not to sound dictatorial. “A safari into the Serengeti isn’t what you need right now.”

“It’s my job.”

“But you’re sick. Surely you get sick leave.”

“I’m not that sick.”

“What if you get worse?”

“Then I’ll go to the doctor when we get back to Arusha on Friday. The tour will be virtually over by then anyway.”

Harry can’t think about that now. “Please let me get you a hotel room so you can stay here instead. Zayn can go to the Serengeti, Liam will help him. Louis, please.”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“No, Harry.”

“I’m not leaving you alone when you’re ill.”

“You came to Africa to see the Serengeti—”

“Fuck the Serengeti!”

Louis surges forward. “No.”

“Please.” Harry has to rush to keep up with him as he heads out of the car park in the opposite direction from the cafés. “The Serengeti will always be there, I can come back any time—”

“You’re also here to work, and you can’t take pictures of Niall in the Serengeti from a hotel room in Arusha.”

“So then—so then Zayn can stay—”

“At least one of us has to be with the group.”

Not that Harry would have let Zayn stay and not also stayed himself, but he’s relieved they don’t have to fight about that. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay by yourself, in case you get worse.”

“Which is why I’m coming with you.” Louis wheels around the corner onto a busy street. “Keep aware of anyone getting too close to you. Pickpocketing is rife here.”

Harry glowers at the touts already gathering. Sensing his mood, they melt away. Good. At least someone’s paying him attention. “Louis.” He digs his fingers into Louis’ upper arm, forcing him to stop. “What if you get really sick out there in the middle of nowhere? There are no hospitals in the Serengeti.”

“There’s a dispensary,” Louis says calmly, not pulling away. “It’s for the park workers, but I’ve taken a passenger there before for treatment. It has a medical officer, and they can treat me if I need it. Okay?”

He’s shaking again, Harry realises. His face has gone from ashen to dull, blotchy red, and sweat’s soaking through his shirt. But he’s not going to listen. He truly believes this is the best plan and nothing Harry says will shake him. “Please, Lou.” He tries one last time.

Louis’ other hand comes up to detach Harry’s grip on his arm. He gives Harry’s fingers a quick, invisible squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. Trust me.”

It helps a little, having his Louis come back to replace serene, efficient, untouchable Tour Leader Louis. “I just want to take care of you,” he says helplessly.

“Tomorrow is mostly driving.” Louis lets go of his hand but stays close enough that Harry feels the heat pumping out through his skin. “All I have to do is sit. Then Thursday is safaris around the park and I’ll stay at the camp and sleep. And Friday is driving out again. I don’t even have to cook. It won’t be demanding or exhausting.”

“It won’t be restful, though, either. It’ll be hot and—and dusty and bright.” All things that make Harry cringe at the thought of having to deal with while ill.

“Let me get some Advil, it’ll help. And trust me, I’ll let you make sure I drink enough to keep hydrated, and I’ll sleep as much as I can. Okay, Haz?”

He makes it sound so reasonable. Harry doesn’t like it, it feels wrong in his gut, but Louis won’t be swayed and the best he can hope for is a Louis willing to let Harry take care of him on the road. “Okay,” he says heavily. “But Louis, you’re swaying on your feet. Show me where the pharmacy is and I’ll get your Advil, and then I’ll get you some other stuff that might help from Shoprite, and you can go back to the truck and rest.”

“But—”

“I can cope with Arusha by myself. I promise.”

“Okay.” Louis seems to realise he’s pushed Harry as far as Harry’s able to go. “Fine. The pharmacy’s on the next block, this side of the road. Don’t encourage anyone to approach you on the street, don’t look around. Act like you know what you’re doing and you’ve been here before, like you’re not a tourist. Plenty of westerners live here, and you’re not carrying any bags so you don’t necessarily stand out. It’s not dangerous, they’ll just rob you.” He smiles a little. “And we don’t want that.”

Six weeks ago, Harry would have been petrified. Now he smiles back. “Nope.”

In a different world, he’d be able to kiss Louis on the forehead and give him a quick hug before turning him around to return to the truck. Instead they cling with their eyes for a moment, smiles fading. 

“If you’re not back in twenty minutes, I’m coming to look for you.”

“Thirty,” Harry says. “There might be queues in Shoprite at this time of day.”

“Okay, thirty.”

*

Louis is surprisingly cooperative when they reach their camp. It’s a nice camp, more reminiscent of campgrounds in Namibia and Botswana. There’s a large swimming pool beneath the trees that at least half the passengers immediately head for, even though it’s almost sunset and rapidly cooling. Zayn, Liam, Niall and Alicia ensure everyone’s tents are set up, and Louis crawls into his and Zayn’s with his blanket as soon as it’s up, not even trying to argue with Harry about cooking. 

Zayn announces that Louis is resting when everyone convenes for dinner. Reassured, people defer to him as next in charge, and he answers questions about what to pack in their overnight bags for the Serengeti trip and gives a short presentation on the animals to anticipate.

“Funny to think I was scared of him,” Liam murmurs into Harry’s ear as Zayn finishes off. “He seemed so aloof at the start of the trip. He never interacted with anyone but Louis.”

“Oh yeah.” Harry’d forgotten that. They’ve all transformed over the last six weeks. 

“How’s Louis?”

“He’s promised to let me look after him since he refused to stay here to recover. I’m making some chicken broth that I’ll take him after dinner, and I’ve got some honey, lemon and ginger for tea.”

“Zayn and I’ve got the passengers, so he doesn’t need to worry about that.”

“Thanks.” Harry sets down his fork. “I’m really glad you and Zayn have worked it out.”

“Me too. You and Louis will too, you know.”

For weeks, Harry’s been convinced that everything will end on Saturday. Hope of a possible future feels good. “Thanks, Li.”

*

It’s too public for him and Louis to share a tent. Too many people are paying attention, worrying about Louis, the tents are all crowded together in a haphazard group, and it’s not a site where the electricity turns off at ten. Harry drops by Louis’ tent before bed to find him sleepy but smiling. He’s had all of his tea and half of the broth. That’s something. 

“Sleep well, Lou.” It hurts, not being able to touch. 

“You too, love.”

*

He’s lost in a dream about chasing Louis through endless mountains when someone shakes him awake. “Harry?”

“Zayn?” He scrambles up. “What’s wrong? Is Louis—”

“He’s okay. He just can’t sleep, he’s too cold. And I’m sure as hell not going to cuddle him.”

Louis hasn’t drastically degenerated. Harry steadies himself on the floor of the tent. 

“He keeps whimpering your name,” Zayn continues, “and it’s keeping me awake. I’m taking your tent so I can get some sleep. Go take my place.”

Harry definitely won’t argue. There are enough lights on in the distance for him to easily make his way across the damp grass to Louis’ tent. He crawls inside and zips up the doorway. “Lou?”

The black shadow that is Louis shifts over. “Haz?” His voice is rough as sandpaper. 

“Zayn came to sleep in my tent,” Harry whispers as he crawls towards him. “He told me you were cold.”

“Too cold,” Louis gasps. He holds out his arms and instantly Harry is there, tugging over Zayn’s abandoned mattress and resituating the fluffy blanket to cover them both. 

“You’re burning up, Lou.”

“’m not, ‘m so cold.”

“You have a fever. Did you take your pills? Shall I get you some more? Where are they?”

“Jus’ took ‘em. Hold me.”

There’s nothing Harry wants more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	41. Chapter 41

**Day 41 - Louis**

**Arusha to the Serengeti, Tanzania**

Yesterday cost him too much, Louis thinks as he swims into consciousness for a day he doesn’t know how he’ll get through. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended so fucking hard to be all right. Maybe he should’ve let Harry check him into that hotel where he’d have proper sheets to sweat through and no stones digging into his aching muscles, and all he’d have to do today is drink water and sleep. 

He feels very much like crying at the thought of eight hours of clattering over the corrugated dusty roads into the Serengeti. The Ngorongoro Crater will provide a short respite in the middle of that hell. It’s one of his favourite places on the tour, a unique ecosystem within an ancient volcano, a hundred square miles of lush grass surrounded by evergreen rainforest even in the dry season, home to thousands of animals, including all of the big five. It’s natural Africa in microcosm, guarantees lion spotting, lakes crowded with flamingos, and it’s wildebeest calving season at the moment, an opportunity to watch the miracle of birth in frequent action during a single visit to the crater. 

He just has to survive four hours of horrendous jolting and bashing around in the back of the safari vehicle to get there, and then a further four hours or so to the camp inside the Serengeti. 

He has painkillers. He can will himself to sleep. He can do this. 

He just has to keep Harry from realising how bad it is until they’re well away from Arusha.

Harry.

Harry is here with him. In the tent, Louis and Zayn’s tent. He’s as drenched through with sweat as Louis, but none of it’s from him. He’s still okay. Probably shouldn’t be in such close proximity to Louis, though, or he’ll get sick too. 

As if sensing Louis’ observation of him, Harry stirs. Green eyes blink open, struggle to focus, then sharpen rapidly. “Lou! How are you?”

Not shaking at the moment, in that blessed phase between chills and the sweats. Louis indicates his sodden shirt. “Think my fever broke during the night. It’ll be better from here.”

Relief floods Harry’s face and Louis fights back guilt for his outright lie. “So you’ll be okay for the Serengeti?”

“Yeah, love.” He will be. Come what may. “Looks like we both need a shower. Sorry about that.”

Harry brushes that aside, beaming as he cradles Louis closer and presses a kiss against his forehead. “You’re still hot, though.”

“That’s from being cuddled up so close to you,” Louis retorts. “You’re like a furnace.”

“You liked it during the night.”

Louis always likes it. “How did you end up here with me? What happened to Zayn?”

“You don’t remember? He came and got me in the middle of the night. He said you were cold and he wasn’t going to be the one cuddling you to warm you up.”

Louis knows Zayn would give him whatever body heat he required, but clearly he’d taken the opportunity to give Louis what he knew Louis needed most. “Thank you, babe.”

“Always.” Harry drops his forehead against Louis’. “Anything you need.”

That hotel room he tried to force upon Louis last night. “A shower.” Louis injects a lot more strength into his voice than he feels. “Need to shower all that sweat away. You do too.” He tries for a lewd grin. “A shame we can’t take one together.”

“You must be feeling better if you’re making sex jokes.”

“See? No more need to worry, Harriet.” He brushes his thumb over Harry’s mouth. “You go for a shower first. Hopefully it’s early enough that no one will see you sneak out of my tent.”

“Good plan.” Lifting Louis’ wrist, Harry kisses the back of his hand. The little shiver it sparks literally burns. Badly. “Don’t worry about breakfast, yeah? Just do what you need to do to take care of yourself, and between me, Zayn and Liam, we’ve got the rest.”

“It’s almost like a holiday for me,” Louis jokes. 

Harry rewards him with a faint smile as he pushes back the blanket. 

*

Louis lies to Zayn too. He repeats the broken fever story, and the mess of his blanket backs him up. Zayn’s mouth thins as he drapes the blanket over a fence and two chairs in the morning sun to air out, but he doesn’t argue, just declares that he’s coming into the Serengeti too. He doesn’t always, but Louis figured he would in the circumstances, so he smiles sunnily and uses up the rest of his energy to walk to the shower block as if he’s not on the verge of disintegrating.

The shower helps, makes him feel human enough to join the others at breakfast instead of hiding away in the cab of the truck until the safari vehicles for their Serengeti trip arrive. Harry plies him with more of his ginger and honey concoction from last night. It feels good going down, but Louis’ unable to face the slice of toast Harry offers. He takes it, slips strips of it into his pocket when nobody’s looking, so it’s three-quarters gone when Harry returns.

“Think you could manage a banana too?” 

He needs energy to fake it for the next hour, so he nods. Pieces of banana are easier to swallow. He can mush them in his fingers and pretend they’re pills, and hopefully that’ll fool his body into not realising they’re food and wanting to expel them. Throwing up now will negate all his hard work. 

The banana stays down. He does feel a little better for it. Enough to be able to shoulder his own bag, which Zayn packed for him, and pull himself up into the second of the safari trucks. 

“Come sit at the back,” Harry fusses, lithely jumping up beside him. “We’ve distributed everyone so you can lie down on the back seat with me.

Lying down. That sounds like heaven. 

There’s a sleeping bag laid out on the bench that lines the back of the vehicle. “To be softer,” Harry says. A sleep sheet to cover him if he gets cold. A pillow, his pillow, in fact, with a clean, dry pillowcase, to go on Harry’s lap. 

“You said you’d let me take care of you.” Harry holds his gaze firmly when Louis pauses. “This is me taking care of you.”

There’s also one of the buckets from the truck on the floor. 

“Just in case.” Harry’s eyes don’t flicker. 

Shit, Louis hasn’t fooled him at all. But he’s too drained to argue, so he lies down and drifts back into sleep with Harry’s hand sifting gently through his hair, Liam’s voice comfortingly deep in the background reading about the history of the Ngorongoro caldera and the migration of the wildebeest.

*

He wakes deep in the heart of a volcano. The vehicle is still. He’s chilled, and pulls the sheet more tightly around his shoulders. 

“Hey, Lou.”

He doesn’t want to surface, it’s easier, lost in a land of black mindlessness, but he forces his eyes open. All he can see is bodies jostling to look out the open top of the vehicle. “What’re they watching?” he asks, his voice scratchy and hoarse.

“Wildebeests giving birth.” Harry, by contrast, sounds awed. “We just watched one take its first steps, and then it started dancing. It’s magical.”

He’s only witnessed calving season once before, and struggles up to see. Two babies bounce around together, figuring out how to use their scrawny legs for the first time. “Love this place.”

“It’s really special.” As the babies calm their wild cavorting and turn to their mothers to learn how to feed, Harry bends down to produce a bottle from the bag at his feet. “Have some water, Lou.”

Louis obediently takes the bottle. “What else have you seen so far?”

Harry enthuses about watching lions stalk the hippos, plenty of giraffes, buffaloes and ostriches, zebras that came right up to investigate the vehicle. Louis revels in his obvious delight and takes a look at his video of one of the wildebeests being born. This is worth the pounding in his head and the low-level nausea threatening his stomach. Worth his fiery skin and prickling chills. 

He surreptitiously tries to wipe the sweat off his face. “Have we stopped for lunch yet?”

“No, we’re on our way there, to one of the lakes, Kadiri said. He’s our driver.”

Louis knows that. He knows Kadiri. He’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing to have someone he knows witnessing this debacle. Witnessing him with Harry. 

Kadiri is gentle when they stop. He produces a thermos of broth for Louis instead of the sandwiches he has for everyone else, which it only takes one look at Harry to identify its origin. When everyone traipses down to the water’s edge to see the flamingos, including Harry at Louis’ insistence, Kadiri folds himself into the seat in front of Louis’ temporary bed. 

“You are not doing well, my friend.”

Louis drops his head back against the window. “I know.”

“Your Harry tells me you are getting better, but I do not think this is the case.”

His Harry. Does Kadiri suspect? Does he mind? “Harry wouldn’t come if I didn’t.” He gestures down to where Harry’s photographing Niall surrounded by flamingos. “I didn’t want him to miss out.”

Kadiri nods. “He said he tried to persuade you to stay in Arusha. He was right.”

Louis doesn’t need to be told that. “It’s only flu. I’ll be fine. It’s just—unpleasant.”

“Are you sure?”

“That it’s unpleasant? Yeah, pretty sure.”

“Your illness. These symptoms could also be something else.”

Louis’ heart literally feels like it stops as horror crashes over him. Five years in Africa and he’s never been touched by malaria. He hadn’t even considered it. If it’s malaria, he needed to see a doctor yesterday for treatment. It’s not, though, he thinks as the rush of blood from his head starts to filter back. He’s seen people with malaria. They’re much worse than he is. And he’s felt like this before, and it was fine. Nothing feels different or unusual. 

“It’s not,” he says firmly. “I’m already feeling better and I wouldn’t if it was malaria. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. By tomorrow, you’ll see.

*

He’s determined he’s improving. No matter that every jolt on the road from the crater feels like a lightning bolt through his fever-ravaged body. No matter that he throws up the broth from lunch. No matter that his hold on conscious awareness narrows to fragments. Harry’s hand in his wet hair. The spear of sun catching him through the open roof. Harry’s strong, steady heartbeat. The crack of thunder from an unseasonal storm. The heat of Harry’s body like flames to warm himself against. The vehicle slips and slides through channels of mud and it feels almost worse than the jolts, out of control, like he is of his body. 

Leopards, Harry tells him at some stage. In a sausage tree. Half a dozen of them. 

Must be nearing sunset, if that’s the case.

A giraffe pokes its head in the window right beside Louis. 

“Hello,” Harry says.

Maybe Louis hallucinates that. He’ll ask Harry later. Maybe he didn’t. 

Maybe he hallucinates being carried. 

He’s lying on cool tiles. 

Tiles?

“Cold,” he tells Harry. 

Harry’s not there.

Harry is there.

“Drink,” Harry’s voice says.

Liquid feels nice running down his throat. His stomach doesn’t like it so much. 

“Haz,” he says urgently, and there’s a bucket right where he needs it and a warm hand on his back and everything is going to be just fine because Harry is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	42. Chapter 42

**Day 42 - Harry**

**The Serengeti, Tanzania**

Harry’s determined to keep it together.

He keeps it together when they’re welcomed to their new camp by a long animal safety lecture. This is a wild camp, with no fences to keep the animals out. There’s a low building with a cooking space and some tiled benches built into the wall, and the ablution block is several minutes’ walk away from the tents. 

The rules are made very clear. No food, or even items smelling like potential food, in the tents. Keep them zipped up tightly. It’s unlikely elephants will wander through the camp during the night, but if you hear them, stay inside your tent and wait until they’re gone before venturing out. If you hear lions roaring, stay inside your tent. Same with hyenas or any other animal. If something comes sniffing around or investigating, stay in your tent. 

If you need the bathroom during the night, wake up a friend and go together. Preferably a group of you. Do not go alone in any circumstances. Before you leave your tent, listen carefully for several minutes to ensure there’s no sound of animals. Unzip it just a little and shine your torches everywhere you can see before unzipping it further. Check again before stepping outside. Keep shining them, preferably in all directions at once (hence the group) as you walk through the bush towards the toilet block. Once you’ve made it safely there, when you push open the door, stand in the doorway and shine torches everywhere inside to check for animals who may have decided to shelter inside for the night, ready to run the moment you spot something. 

Best scenario: don’t leave your tent all night.

“I’m taking a sleeping pill,” Katrina announces as they sit in shock at the end of the lecture. “There’s no way I’ll sleep, otherwise, and no way am I risking waking up and needing the bathroom.”

Several other girls agree. 

Some of the guys look shifty. “We should agree groups,” Eric suggests. “Everyone see who's in the nearest tent and agree to all wake up if any one person needs to go.”

Yolanda seconds the idea, and Harry wishes desperately that he’d bullied Louis into staying in Arusha. There couldn’t be a worse situation for him to be ill in, really. 

And he’s very ill. Louis said it was flu—but then he also said his fever broke last night when it didn’t. Louis clearly isn’t to be believed about his state of health.

Harry keeps it together through dinner while Louis sleeps on a tiled bench in the kitchen. Harry has him in a corner, and Liam, Niall, Zayn and Alicia run interference with curious passengers. Harry gets that they’re worried, but it’s not his problem. Louis deserves what privacy Harry can manufacture while he’s too ill to protect himself. 

He’s not particularly hungry, his stomach is in knots, has been all day and now he has a hazardous night to endure. He manages to down the best part of a litre of water since he forgot to drink on the journey, too focused on getting liquids into Louis. It eases the headache that was pricking at his temples. 

Why is it so hard out here for basic selfcare that he wouldn’t need to think twice about at home?

He keeps it together when Zayn helps him carry Louis out to the tents. The tents were erected by the safari staff, who came ahead with supplies while everyone was exploring the crater, and Louis’ tent is nowhere near Harry’s, but Zayn says, “I’ll take yours,” and later drops off Harry’s overnight pack and sleeping bag. Louis’ blanket isn’t very fresh after last night, but that’s the least of Harry’s worries. It’ll keep him warm, but he wraps Louis up in his sleep sheet first to hopefully catch the worst of further sweats. 

“What if he’s not better tomorrow?” Harry whispers when Zayn shows up again with several litre bottles of water, a cloth and the cleaned bucket. 

“We’ll deal with it.” In the light from the torch bobbing from its knotted hold at the crown of the tent, Zayn looks as worried as Harry feels, although he’s trying to hide it, trying to be strong for Harry. “There’s a dispensary. I’ll take him there in the morning if he’s worse. They’ll be able to give him something so we can get him back to Arusha.”

And a hospital.

People die from flu. They also die from all kinds of other horrific illnesses in Africa. 

“I should have made him stay.”

“ _I_ should have. He couldn’t have stood up to both of us.” Zayn lays his hand against Louis’ flushed cheek. “Feel bloody stupid for believing him this morning.”

So does Harry. “Is it—do you think it’s bad?”

Zayn starts to speak, then breaks off. Hesitates. “Hopefully not. Louis doesn’t ever get sick, so I’m not sure what he’s like when he has flu. It could be fine. He could wake up tomorrow bright and full of life, eager to spend the day on safari after a big breakfast.”

That’s the vision Harry will cling to. “He’s been sick for three days. It would make sense for this to be the turning point.”

“That’s the spirit.” Zayn kneels up, away from Louis, and squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “Give him water any time he wakes up. He’s dehydrated. Come get me if he gets significantly worse.” His mouth twists. “Not that I can do much.”

Harry’s desperately relieved he’s not alone out here with Louis. “Thank you.”

“And don’t forget the safety rules for going outside.” As he speaks, Zayn unzips the tent and switches on his torch to scour the immediate surroundings. “Looks okay. Right, I’ll make a run for it. Zip it up behind me and lock it, yeah?”

“I will.”

He keeps it together as he secures the tent, trying not to panic. Zayn hasn’t abandoned him, and it would’ve been silly to ask him to stay. There isn’t room for three of them comfortably, and as he said, there’s not much he could do. Harry’s a bit overwhelmed that Zayn trusts him enough to leave Louis in his care for the night. 

He checks his phone. It’s almost nine. Ten hours to survive until daylight. Ten hours in an unprotected tent in the midst of thousands of lethal animals, hoping that Louis doesn’t die.

Louis won’t die. 

He isn’t sleepy in the slightest; how can he be when every rustle makes his pulse jump with fear it’s a lion nosing at their tent? 

It will be fine, he tells himself. Louis comes here several times a year, sleeps in this very camp. Nothing’s got him yet. 

Louis. 

Louis is here with Harry. Harry still has no idea what Louis is contemplating for the future, if it gives them any chance of seeing each other again, but right now Louis is here. He’s still Harry’s. 

With the temperature dropping rapidly outside, Harry peels back the blanket and slides beneath it next to Louis. Louis’ still hot, still burning up. He wets his fingers from a bottle and dribbles them over Louis’ lips, and Louis swallows reflexively. Is this a safe thing to do? Harry has no idea. But Louis needs fluids and he’s swallowing, so Harry does it again and again until Louis purses his lips and turns his face away. 

He finishes off the bottle himself. Trails his fingers over Louis’ cheek. Listens to Louis breathe. Tries not to listen to snuffles and rumbles and thumps outside.

It’s after eleven. Louis is still sleeping peacefully. Soundly. Deeply. Not unconsciously, Harry hopes. He jerks away when Harry pokes him. Good, he’s not in a coma or anything, of course he isn’t. He’s fine. Recovering. Sleep is the very best thing he can do. Let his body heal itself.

Harry should do the same.

He’s still keeping it together as he closes his eyes in the dark and tries to empty his mind, like he learned in meditation. Just breathe, concentrate on emptiness, let go of fears, don’t spiral into panic, focus on breath, in, out, his breath, Louis’ breath, both of them safe, together, together all night deep in the Serengeti, together asleep.

*

He jerks awake.

It’s pitch black. Freezing. 

Louis’ moaning.

Writhing against him, almost sobbing. 

“Louis?” Harry scrambles up. “Hey, Louis, Louis, you’re okay.” 

Where the fuck did he leave his head torch? He gropes around until he finds it on the floor beside him, snaps it on by feel so its brilliant white light cuts through the dark, and angles it to face the doorway, away from Louis’ eyes, should they open. 

“Louis?”

Louis isn’t answering, lost in fever dreams. He’s hurting and Harry can’t help him. Can’t reach him. He sounds anguished, and Harry’s losing it. 

Keep it together, keep it together. 

He bathes the sweat off Louis’ face. Louis kicks away the blanket but starts shivering so hard Harry starts shaking as well, and he presses Louis into his body, trying to soothe him. 

“It’s okay, Lou, I’ve got you, you’re safe, I promise, I’m taking care of you. Louis, honey, baby, listen to me, you’re all right, it’ll be all right.” Harry’s voice cracks. He’s crying. He needs to be strong for Louis. 

Louis convulses and Harry grabs the bucket just in time. 

Shit.

Now the tent reeks. 

What if the animals think this is food?

What if they rip their way into the tent and eat Louis?

Maybe he should dump it into the grass outside. But that will definitely attract them, and what if they think there’s more inside? 

He should take it to the bathroom. Away from Louis. 

But he didn’t participate in the conversation about bathroom groups. He has no idea who’s in the tents on either side of him. Doesn’t know whose names to call out to wake them.

He needs the bathroom himself, he realises. Rather badly, thanks to all that rehydrating he was doing. Louis twists, curling onto his side, and his elbow connects with Harry’s bladder. Fuuuuuuck, that was close. 

Now he’s aware of it, he can’t think of anything else. 

Besides the smell that might be calling to the wild animals. 

Louis is in danger.

How can Harry protect him?

Maybe he should risk going to the bathroom alone with the bucket. At least then Louis will be safe in the tent, and Harry can lead the animals away from him.

What if he can’t find the right tent to come back to in the dark?

What if he gets eaten and Louis is left alone and needs him?

What if Louis dies because Harry has no idea how to take care of him in stupid, dangerous, lethal Africa? 

What if Louis dies?

“’m okay, Haz.”

He almost misses the soft voice through the spiral of terror screaming through him, but Louis’ hand bumps his, curls around his shivering fingers.

“’s a plastic bag. My backpack. Outside pocket. If I’m sick again, use that.” Louis’ feeble voice strengthens as he speaks. “Tie it closed.”

Oh. Harry hadn’t thought of something like that. He has some too, ziplock bags. Waterproof and airtight. “Hang on,” he croaks, reaching for the bucket. It’s not easy, but he pours the contents into one of the bags, and the smell immediately eases when he zips it shut. For good measure, he slides it inside a second bag and seals that too. 

“I know a thing or two.” Louis’ words come slower than Harry’s usually do, but when Harry looks down, he’s smiling. 

“So you do.” He thinks he’s smiling back. It feels like a grimace. His bottom lip won’t stop trembling. 

“’s okay, darling.” Louis reaches for his hand again. “Doing so well.”

“Absolutely useless,” Harry mutters, swiping at his eyes. “Can’t fix you.”

“I’m sick. It’s not your fault.”

“So fucking scared.”

“They told you the rules?”

“This is a terrible place, Louis. Utterly insane.”

“Just stick to them and you’re fine. Yeah? Babe? Look at me.”

Tears are falling uncontrollably now and he’s given up all hope of keeping it together, right when it’s most important to be strong for Louis. “I can’t, Lou.”

“Come here, baby.”

Everything bursts apart, and he shudders and shakes and sobs in Louis’ arms, the terror and the stress suddenly too much to bear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.”

He cries himself out, sobs himself dry, except, as the storm subsides, he can ignore his throbbing bladder no longer. “I need to pee so badly,” he mumbles into Louis’ neck.

Louis laughs, the bastard. “I have an empty thermos in my pack you can use for that.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut in mortification. “At Kilimanjaro, I thought I had Africa conquered. Turns out I’m still helpless and pathetic and incompetent. I didn’t even think of that.”

“I’ve been here before, Haz.” Louis rubs firm strokes along his spine between his shoulder blades. “I have experience. You don’t. You’re doing so well, though. I’m so proud of you.”

Louis shouldn’t be. “You should have warned me. I wasn’t prepared for lions in our camp.”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was going to be fun. Exciting.”

“It’s scary and horrible.” Pulling away because the need is overwhelming, Harry rummages in Louis’ pack and finds the empty thermos. It has a wide top, not like a water bottle, and is perfect for the job. Louis has thought of everything. Except....privacy. “Don’t look,” he instructs, keeping his back turned. 

“Want me to hold it for you?”

“Louis!”

“You cleaned up my sick.”

“You couldn’t help that. I can control this.” 

Except he really can’t, not now that his bladder knows relief is in sight and not hours away come daylight. It takes some awkward manoeuvring to get up on his knees and pull down his pants at the front enough to free his dick so he can point it down into the thermos. It makes a horribly loud noise in the silence of the tent, and the smell isn’t much better than Louis’ sick. 

“Ugh, I hate this,” he groans as he tightens the lid when he’s done. “I’m never coming here again.” 

“Come lie down with me, baby.” 

“You’re laughing at me,” Harry says darkly, hoping his blush has settled down a bit as he turns back to face Louis after putting his dick away. 

“I love you.”

Harry freezes. He has to be hallucinating. All of this. All this ridiculousness of lions and peeing and illness. It’s all so terrible. And yet....

“Come here and let me hold you,” Louis says as though he hadn’t just ignited Harry’s world. “Please, Haz, I’m cold.”

He moves instinctively, his body programmed by now to warm Louis whenever required. He resituates himself beneath the blanket, and Louis squirms against him, rearranging their limbs until they’re wrapped up into one. 

“Love you, Harry,” he sighs. “Love you so much.”

*

It’s light the next time Harry opens his eyes. 

The night is over.

They survived.

At least—yes, Louis did. He’s still breathing, tightly wound around Harry, his head twisted down onto Harry’s chest. Right over his heart. 

That’s right. Louis said _I love you_ during the night. 

And Harry didn’t say it back. 

When Louis wakes up, he’ll tell him. First thing.

Louis doesn’t wake, though, just curls around Harry’s pillow when Harry eases away from him. He’s still hot, but he’s no longer sweating. Maybe he’s fallen into a deep, healing sleep instead of the feverish passing out he’s been doing. If that’s the case, the last thing Harry should do is wake him. 

People are moving around the camp when he unzips the door, and he checks his phone. Seven-thirty. Breakfast is scheduled for eight, he thinks, with the all-day safari leaving at nine. 

He switches out his damp t-shirt for a clean one and picks up his towel and the ziplocked bags and thermos before scrambling out the door into thick, dew-wet grass. The camp looks so peaceful with their khaki tents dotted around scrabbly acacia trees in the middle of nowhere, nothing like the hellscape of his torturous fears. There’s not an animal in sight. 

“Morning, Harry.” Elise sticks her head out of the tent closest to him. “How is Louis this morning?”

Everyone knows. They expect him to sleep with Louis now. “He’s still sleeping.” His voice cracks, his throat hurting from the tension that gripped him for half the night. “He was sick again during the night.” He indicates the bags, figuring that since she’s a nurse it’s probably okay to tell her something like this. “He woke up enough to talk to me for a while, though.”

She’s nodding along, as if she can make sense of it. “Does he still have a fever?”

Given how wet the bedclothes are, it feels like it broke, but that’s what it felt like last night too. “I’m not sure. He’s still hot. Is that bad?”

“Did he make sense when he talked to you?”

 _He told me he loves me._ “Yes. He told me to use the bags. It was a proper conversation, for several minutes. He was fully conscious.”

“That’s a good sign.” She smiles, kindly. He gets the sense she longs to examine Louis herself, but she doesn’t push. “Is he drinking?”

“I got a fair bit of water into him during the night. Into myself too, and that led to the obvious problem.” He throws a dark glance at the sandy pathway leading through the trees towards the toilets. 

She winces. “Yeah. Ollie’s got an upset stomach and it kept him up half the night trying to keep it all in because he was too scared to go outside.”

“Fuck.” That’s worse than feeling like his bladder would burst. “Did he manage?”

“Eventually he woke me up around four and we made a dash for it. He spent the next two hours there, with me on guard in the doorway.”

It’s horribly reassuring to hear he wasn’t the only one struggling through the night. “That’s shit.”

“Yeah, he’s going to miss the safari today, doesn’t want to be away from bathrooms for hours on end just in case. I’ve given him something for it, but I think it was too late.”

Poor Oliver. “I hope he feels better soon.”

“Me too.” She surveys the sandy path. “It looks so innocuous in the morning light.”

Really fucking deceptive, Harry thinks. He makes his way along it, calling good morning and updating Louis’ status as “doing okay” to several more people as he goes. Relieving himself in an actual bathroom is something he feels like he’ll never take for granted again after the agony of the night. What would he have done if Louis hadn’t woken up and told him about the thermos? Once he’s done and had a quick shower, he empties out the thermos and the bags, gives them a quick rinse and makes a mental note to clean them properly later, then heads back to the tent. 

Eight o’clock and it feels like an oven when he opens the zip. 

Louis’ still snuggled into the blanket like it’s snowing outside. 

“Lou?”

No answer.

“Louis, are you awake?”

Louis doesn’t stir.

He’s still breathing, when Harry checks, sweating again. Harry untucks the blanket and pulls it down a bit to give him some air, hoping that the movement might spark a response, but it doesn’t. 

“Knock, knock,” Zayn says from the doorway. Liam’s right behind him. 

Harry sits back on his heels. “Good morning.”

“How’s our boy?”

Harry goes through everything he told Elise, and the three of them regard sleeping Louis. 

“He doesn’t look worse,” Liam ventures.

“He’s not better,” Harry points out. 

No one knows what to say. 

“I guess him waking up and talking coherently is a good sign,” Zayn decides. “He looks comfortable now.”

“It’s too hot in this tent.” Harry feels like he’s already sweated through his fresh clothes. “Can he—do you think we could move him back to the kitchen for the day? We could bring his mattress and blanket. This will only be getting hotter and it can’t be good for him.”

“I don’t think he’d like being in public like that,” Zayn says. “The kitchen guys will be in there all day. But we can move one of our tents beneath the thickest trees, and if we keep the tent windows open, the breeze should cool it down enough. If it gets too bad, I’ll move him to the kitchen regardless. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a close watch.”

“What do you mean?” The tent beneath the trees might work to protect Louis’ dignity. “I’ll know if it gets too hot.”

“But you won’t be here.”

Harry snaps his head up. “What do you mean, I won’t be here? I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re going on safari, Harry.”

“I’m fucking not.” What the hell is Zayn on? “If you think I’m leaving his side—”

“Of course you are!” Harry’s never heard Zayn raise his voice before. “Harry, Louis is only here because he didn’t want you to miss out on the Serengeti.”

“I’m in the fucking Serengeti!”

“You know what I mean. He’d have stayed in Arusha if it didn’t mean you’d stay too. He wants this for you.”

“He’s sick!”

“And you can do nothing for him by sitting here all day, wasting your time.”

“It wouldn’t be wasted.” 

“It would be, in Louis’ mind.”

That’s not fair. Harry shoves at his bag, knowing Zayn is right. Problem is, he hasn’t the slightest interest in African animals after last night. 

“Look, H,” Liam says, voice gentle, “it won’t help Louis, you being here. But if he wakes up and discovers you’re not on the safari, he might get upset and that kind of agitation wouldn’t be healthy for him.”

“Low blow, Liam.”

“You know I’m right.”

Harry does, but he doesn’t have to like it. “Fine,” he bites out. “I’ll go. But you watch him, Zayn. You don’t take your eyes off him. If anything happens—”

“I’ll take care of him, Harry. I give you my word.”

“Okay.” Harry looks back at Louis, who hasn’t stirred despite their loud voices. “Go move my tent, and then I’ll bring him.”

“I’ll round everyone up for breakfast,” Liam says. “Get them out of the way. What do you want me to tell them about Louis?”

“That he’s getting better, but spending the day resting in camp,” Zayn suggests.

 _Is_ Louis getting better? Can Harry really trust that? He picks up Louis’ hot hand and cradles it between his cool palms. “Good idea,” he manages. “Let’s do it.”

*

The day is almost worse than the night. During the night he had Louis. He knew how Louis was doing, moment by moment. 

“I don’t even have Zayn’s phone number to text him,” he complains to Liam while they watch a parade of elephants. It’s all very magnificent and impressive and Harry doesn’t give a shit. “To see how Louis’ doing.”

“There’s no signal out here anyway,” Niall reminds him. 

Harry’s meant to be talking to Niall about something. He can’t even remember what. “Such a ridiculous place. Can’t go to the loo in the night, can’t get updates when someone’s ill.”

“It’s Africa, Harry. The middle of a game park.”

The guide is proudly informing them that the Serengeti is known for its large lion population. Harry wouldn’t be emphasising that to people who have to spend another night in the wild in danger from said lions. More than three thousand of them apparently. How on earth is Harry meant to sleep tonight now he knows just how many lions are prowling around? 

Louis’d better be better. Harry doesn’t want to have to be the strong one tonight. Not that he kept it together for all of last night, but he did for most of it, and he doesn’t know if he can do that again if Louis is still scarily sick. He needs Louis back, hale and hearty and teasing him and loving him.

Louis loves him.

_Louis loves him._

Did he even realise he said it? Did he mean to? Would he have said it if he was in full control of himself instead of in a brief interlude of consciousness? 

More importantly, why didn’t Harry immediately say it back? 

Being shocked is no excuse. It might have helped Louis feel better, knowing for definite that Harry feels the same. Because he does. He so, so does. He should have said so. He could have told him this morning. Why didn’t he tell him before he left? Even if Louis was sleeping, he still could have said it, and maybe it would have filtered through. 

As soon as he gets back, whether Louis is awake or asleep, he’s telling him.

*

The decision makes him feel lighter. It feels like a commitment. No matter what happens with South America or any other plan, they’ve declared themselves. They’re in love. This isn’t just a summer fling, a casual experiment on the road, a what-happens-in-Africa-stays-in-Africa deal. Love means more than that. Love means talking things out and making compromises and planning together for a shared future. 

His future will be with Louis. 

His future involves loving Louis and being loved by him.

He pretends he’s crying at the beauty of a mother and baby giraffe nuzzling together beneath a tree. 

Louis loves giraffes.

Louis got him a giraffe for his birthday because it reminded him of Harry.

Louis loves Harry.

Louis loves him.

Louis would love these two giraffes, so full of love for each other. Why isn’t Harry filming them for him? He should be. Like the Okavango when Louis couldn’t come, Harry should be making him a film of everything that happens.

“Glad you’re joining us at last,” Liam whispers when Harry pulls out his camera. 

*

The Serengeti is a marvellous, magical place, and Harry records all of it to share with Louis later. 

*

It’s nearly dusk when they return to camp. Another storm is blowing up, just like it did yesterday evening, wind whipping through the trees as Harry leaps out of the safari vehicle and bounds through the grass towards the tent with number eleven on the side. His tent. His tent keeping Louis safe all day.

Except the tent is empty.

It’s not too hot to be in the tent now. Maybe Louis woke up and he’s having dinner up at the kitchen with Zayn. 

There’s no Louis in the kitchen. Or Zayn.

Bathroom then. It’s the only other place possible.

He crashes into Oliver as he bursts through the doorway. 

“Harry, you’re back!”

“Where’s Louis?”

Oliver’s face crumples.

“Oliver. Where. The fuck. Is Louis?”

“Gone.”

It feels like he’s plunged into the Arctic Ocean. “What do you mean, gone?” He doesn’t mean—he _can’t_ mean— “Gone where?”

“He got really sick, Harry, not long after you left. Vomiting, convulsions. The cook took him and Zayn to the dispensary and they said he had malaria and medevac’d him out of here.”

Malaria.

Louis has malaria. 

People die from malaria. Lots of people. All the time. 

It’s easily treatable, but only if you get to treatment in time. Immediately. 

Louis waited four fucking days.

Four days.

Four days that could cost him his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	43. Chapter 43

**Day 43 - Harry**

**The Serengeti to Arusha, Tanzania**

Nobody knows anything.

Louis is just—gone. Like Oliver said. Vanished off the face of the earth. 

He can’t have, logically Harry knows that, but that’s what it feels like. 

Kadiri, the driver of Harry’s safari vehicle, tells him Louis would have been taken to one of the hospitals in Arusha, but if his condition was really bad, it’s likely he’s in Nairobi. Both are places Harry is going to. But not soon enough.

Not nearly soon enough.

And nobody can confirm anything.

His second night in the wild camp passes almost without notice. Niall and Liam pile into his tent with him and they sleep all tangled up together. Harry didn’t think he could, but terror has a limited lifespan and his body loses the ability to sustain that level of stress. 

He feels numb when he wakes up to the wrong people in his bed. 

Yesterday morning he woke up with Louis. What if that was his last ever chance and he didn’t even appreciate it? Didn’t make the most of it. Didn’t cling to Louis and refuse to ever let him go, the way he should have. If he’d stayed, he’d have been the one to accompany Louis to wherever he ended up. He’d be with him now.

He’d know whether—

No. Louis is alive. He has to be.

*

Breakfast takes far too long. Doesn’t anyone understand the need to get back to Arusha as soon as possible? It’s eight hours of driving away!

All their dawdling could cost him the chance to see Louis before—

No. Louis is alive. He has to be.

*

He doesn’t sleep on the journey back. Doesn’t really feel. Just sits there watching the legendary Serengeti slip past and knows he never wants to see it again.

If it stole Louis from him—

No. Louis is alive. He has to be.

*

Several eternities pass before the safari vehicles pull into the campsite where they left the truck. Zayn will be here waiting for them. He’ll be able to tell Harry where to find Louis. 

Just like yesterday, Harry springs out of the vehicle and races across the campsite, this time to Rafiki. “Zayn?” he yells. No one in the cab. “Zayn?!” 

He skids to a halt as he rounds the side of the truck. There, making himself at home in Louis’ kitchen, is an unfamiliar stocky man with streaky blonde hair and a tight t-shirt bearing the name of Southern Skies. 

The man looks up. “Oh, hello. Good to see you’ve arrived.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“James.” The man holds out the hand that’s not engaged in stirring one of Louis’ pots. “And you?”

Harry ignores the hand. “Where’s Zayn?”

“Ah.” The man takes back his hand. “I’m your new Zayn. I’m here to drive you all to Nairobi in the morning.”

New Zayn.

This man is their new driver.

“Where the fuck is Zayn?” Harry roars.

“Now, now, mate, take it easy.” The man holds up his arms as if proclaiming innocence. “Zayn is unavailable to finish the trip, sorry about that, but don’t worry, I’m here to take care of everything. I’m doubling up as tour leader, but it’s only one night and half a day, so—”

“WHERE IS ZAYN? WHERE IS LOUIS?”

“Hey, Harry. Shouting isn’t going to help the situation.” 

Liam’s holding him. Holding him back? He’s going to punch the face off James if he doesn’t hurry up and tell him what the fuck is going on. 

“Hi, I’m Liam. You’re here to replace Zayn and Louis, is that right?”

Liam’s voice fades into the howling scream ripping through Harry’s mind. If Zayn isn’t here, if Zayn can’t finish the trip, that means Louis—

No.

No, please.

Please, please, please.

Louis is alive.

He has to be.

He just—he has to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	44. Chapter 44

**Day 44 - Harry**

**Arusha, Tanzania to Nairobi, Kenya**

Louis was airlifted to Nairobi. That’s all Liam can get out of James. That in itself takes forever while Liam finds a way to convince James that they aren’t just interested in Louis’ health as a casual concern. 

It helps when others join the conversation, policeman Danny and nurse Elise and Alicia with her New Yorker sense of entitlement. 

It makes it not just about Harry, which Harry gets is important, since this is Louis’ employer they’re negotiating with. James can’t tell them anything until he gets the okay from the company, and even then it’s hardly anything.

As far as he knows, Louis is still alive. 

Zayn went with him as his listed next of kin.

“Let me get you to Nairobi,” he keeps repeating to Liam, “and we’ll go from there. That’s all I can promise for now.”

Louis is alive.

They’d let James know if he died, surely. He knows Louis, drove for him the year before he joined Zayn. And now that James understands how invested Louis’ passengers are in his welfare, he’d pass on the message. 

Wouldn’t he?

Which means Louis is still alive. 

Louis is still alive.

Louis is still alive.

The night is a blur, so is the morning. It’s two hours to the Kenyan border, half an hour to process out and then in, and he’s in the same country as Louis again.

Three more hours to the outskirts of Nairobi. 

Nairobi’s fucking enormous. Traffic to rival Dar es Salaam.

He thought he’d lost Louis in Dar.

He hasn’t lost him.

Louis is still alive.

He has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures to accompany each chapter can be found at tommo_africa on instagram.


	45. Chapter 45

**Day 45 - Louis**

**Nairobi, Kenya**

It’s Harry’s voice he hears first. 

It’s been gone a while. Too long. It was there, so strong and warm and comforting, keeping him tethered to his body, to the world around him. Then it left, and, somehow, Louis left too.

But now it’s back and Louis gets the sense he’s been gone very far away in the interim.

He’s not sure where.

He can’t remember where he is. Was? Where was he last? What was happening besides Harry’s voice? Why can’t he remember what Harry was saying? 

Why did Harry sound panicked and upset? He strains, but that’s all he can remember, that sense of Harry in distress. 

No, no, no. 

He doesn’t sound distressed now, though, Louis realises. His voice is low, barely audible. Chanting. 

“.... love you, Louis, please come back to me, love you, Louis, please come back to me, love you, Louis ....”

_Love you, Louis._

Louis said that. It filters clearly through the haze clogging his memory. _Love you, Harry. Love you so much._

His last words to Harry. 

“Love you too,” he tries to say now. His voice doesn’t work properly, sounds garbled and cracked, but the chanting stops.

“Louis? Oh my God, Louis! Did you say something?”

Oh. Maybe he can’t see because his eyes are closed. Is that why it’s so dark? It takes concentration, a ridiculous amount of effort, but he pries apart his eyelids and white brilliance floods in.

“Ow.” He lets them drop shut again. 

“Louis! He’s awake! Amy, come quickly, he’s trying to wake up. Zayn? Louis, oh my God, Louis, honey, Louis, baby, Louis, oh Louis.”

Harry’s crying. Louis can’t have that. “Don’t cry,” he croaks. “Haz.”

“Louis, I can’t—can you open your eyes? Can you look at me, Lou?”

“Hard. Bright.”

“Turn the lights down!” Harry shouts. 

Louis winces.

“Sorry. Sorry, Louis. Okay, it’s darker now. Better for you. Can you try again?”

Too dark, maybe, because he can’t make out anything, but suddenly misty blobs sharpen and— “Harry.”

“Louis.” Tears splash from Harry’s cheeks onto Louis’ hand, which Harry’s clutching tightly. “Baby, you came back. You came back.”

“Where—where did I go?”

“You nearly left us. We thought you had. But you didn’t.”

“How long?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Sunday?” What does Sunday mean?”

“The tour ended yesterday. We’re in Nairobi. They brought you here from the Serengeti on Thursday when you almost died.”

Died? Louis?

“They didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“Why?” 

“You have malaria and you waited too long to get treated. You’ve been in a coma since they brought you here and we thought last night—but you’re here.”

“I’m here.” Sunday. The day after the tour ended. “You’re s’posed to be in England.”

“You’re here,” Harry says again. He knuckles away tears that keep flowing from his eyes that haven’t left Louis’ for a second. “I love you. I didn’t tell you that in the tent when you said it, but I do. I love you, Louis, and I want to be with you, wherever you are. If it’s here or—wherever. Whatever we decide. I love you.”

Louis has spent weeks dreading this day. It was supposed to be the first day of the rest of his life without Harry. Instead, it feels like it’s the first day of the life he’s going to build with Harry. 

“Come here,” he rasps, and Harry collapses into his arms. “I’m coming to England,” he continues, needing Harry to know. “I’m coming home with you. I’m going to see my family, my sisters, the twins. I’m going to make everything right, Haz.”

Harry mumbles something into his shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“Amy. Your sister.” Harry lifts his head enough so Louis can see his face. “She’s here. Zayn contacted her and she came. She’s here.”

It takes Louis a second. A few more. 

Amy’s here.

In Nairobi. 

Amy came to Nairobi. For him.

“Hi.”

She’s the other half of himself and her voice resonates through all his missing pieces. 

“Louis?”

She shouldn’t sound so scared, so timid. That’s not Amy. Still clinging to Harry, he cautiously turns his head.

She’s there, arms wrapped entirely around herself the way she always did when she wasn’t sure of her welcome. She’s older. Her hair’s long again. Like in his dream, he thinks absurdly, then he’s holding out his arm and she’s pressed against him, laughing and sobbing at the same time, and maybe he is too, it’s hard to tell who’s shaking, because Harry’s still crying, even as he climbs onto the bed to tuck himself against Louis’ other side, and behind Amy, Zayn lurks in the doorway, also smiling, and these are the three people Louis loves best, and he almost left them, almost lost them, but he hasn’t.

He’s still here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue coming tomorrow!


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading along for the past six weeks. When I started writing this story in January 2019, I had no idea of the circumstances in which it would meet the world. I decided to start posting it on the night of Louis' first show in Spain as my own personal celebration because I was so excited about his tour at last. Of course, we all know what happened next. I started posting daily on the night I was meant to have seen him (for the first time!) in London, and it's been a joy every evening to post the new chapter and put up the photos for it on instagram. It's given me something to look forward to as everything's fallen apart around us, and I hope it's done the same for all of you lovely readers.
> 
> As those of you who went to instagram have no doubt gathered, this story is based on a trip I did myself. I grew up in several of the countries mentioned in this story, and a few years ago I wanted to revisit those countries and also visit the ones around them that I hadn't been to. I did the trip in two sections, Cape Town to Vic Falls, then three years later Vic Falls to Nairobi. I both loved it and hated it. I'm definitely not the kind of person who finds it easy to travel like this, and while Africa wasn't a cultural shock for me like it was for many others on the trip, it was hard seeing what had become of the countries where I grew up. 
> 
> Louis' illness at the end is somewhat based on something that happened to me on the trip. Fortunately for me, when I was taken to the dispensary in the Serengeti the test for malaria proved negative. My descriptions of Louis having malaria, however, are based on my experiences of having it twice when I was a child living in Malawi, which I still remember vividly to this day. 
> 
> The experience of being ill in Tanzania was enormously traumatising for me. I developed severe agoraphobia afterwards, terrified of being trapped somewhere away from home, away from a "safe place", if anything happened. It's something I still struggle with. It took three years after the trip before I could even look at the photographs I took, and it took until writing this story (more than five years later) to look at my photographs of Tanzania. The instagram account for this story is the first time I've posted them anywhere. It took me nearly six months to write the Tanzania section of this story, because it brought up a lot of the trauma again from the experience. 
> 
> This story has been immensely healing for me to write, and thank you again to all of you who have been a part of it. I hope it's helped during these scary times.
> 
> And I hope you enjoy this epilogue.

**Three Years Later – Harry and Louis**

**The Okavango Delta, Botswana**

It’s exactly as he envisioned it the first time he was here. Except better, because this time he doesn’t have to pretend he only wants to be Louis’ friend, and gay rights have found their way to Botswana so it’s perfectly permissible for Harry to sprawl in the centre of their mokoro with Louis securely wrapped around him for all the world to see. 

His head’s resting on Louis’ shoulder and he turns it slightly so he can see Louis’ face. “What do you think? Is it like I told you? Are you happy we came?”

Louis looks around at the cool reeds sweeping past them, reaching up to the clear blue African sky. Removing one of his hands from its hold around Harry’s waist, he dangles it into the sparkling water. “Remember how you filmed your whole mokoro ride for me?” he says, voice pitched so only Harry can hear it above the soft swishing sounds of the poles gliding them along. “Remember how I watched it in your tent while you were sleeping?”

That memory’s always embarrassed Harry. He’s never been able to bring himself to open those files on his computer to see exactly what Louis saw that day, to listen back to his inane mumblings. He twitches, pulling Louis’ other hand more tightly around him. “Yeah.”

“When I went to bed that night, I imagined this. I imagined us coming back one day on holiday to Africa together, imagined a different reality where we could be together. I imagined you in my arms in this magical place you’d tried so hard to share with me, experiencing it with you for real.”

“Like this?”

“Just like this.”

It was Niall’s idea. They were in Thailand for his first world tour. Louis had scheduled a week off between finishing Asia and heading down to Australia, and persuaded Harry to beg a week off work for his birthday so the three of them could head to the tropical beaches of Phuket. They rented motorbikes, Louis taught Harry how to surf (or tried to, at any rate), and they snorkelled and kayaked all day and partied through the night. They didn’t quite do the backpacker thing, compromising on a relatively cheap hotel instead of a fancy resort. On the night of Harry’s birthday, they sat out on the beach, Thai beers in hand, reminiscing about the first birthday he’d known Louis, in the Okavango, before they were together. 

“We should go back,” Niall said abruptly. 

“To the Okavango?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah.” Niall set his beer down on the sand. “No, listen to me. Liam and Zayn are leaving Nairobi today. They’ll get to Cape Town mid March. That means they’ll probably hit the Okavango somewhere in April, just after we finish South America.”

Harry didn’t like any mention of South America around Louis and he was uncomfortably stressed about the thought of Louis heading there with Niall’s tour after Easter. He was pretty sure Louis was happy with his decision to abandon overlanding and move into Harry’s tiny flat in London to learn the music business. Louis never mentioned the life he might have had in South America. He threw himself into everything Liam and Niall had to teach him, dedicated himself to mastering every detail, wielding his personal charm to great effect to create contacts as devoted to him across the industry as he had across Africa before. He seemed happy. He seemed to enjoy this new life he’d chosen, but Harry still worried. 

He felt better when Louis went off on tour with Niall the first time, glad Louis would get to travel again. It wasn’t a huge tour, just four months across Europe, the States and Japan. When Harry flew out to meet them in New York, Louis was glowing. Niall’s song _If You Loved Me,_ the one Harry wrote at Etosha, had just reached number one, and the three of them stood in Times Square watching highlights of the music video play above their heads and Louis threw himself into Harry’s arms.

“Thank you!” he’d shrieked into Harry’s ear. “All of this is because of you! I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have any of this, if I hadn’t met you.”

In a different world, Louis probably would have found his way to music without any interference from Harry, but Harry rejoiced at the proof of Louis’ happiness and tried to put from his mind any further worry about his possible regrets. 

Except now Louis was about to go to South America and Harry was assisting on an important trial coming up in the appeal court that week so he couldn’t join them. He knew he was ridiculous, but he had stupid dreams of Louis stepping out into the wild beauty of Rio de Janeiro and falling instantly in love. 

He hadn’t mentioned it to Louis. 

He may or may not have written a song or two that he’d have to change some lyrics in before he could let Niall see them. 

“You want to join Liam and Zayn in the Okavango after your tour finishes?” he asked, unwilling to say the words _South America._

Niall pulled his phone out of his pocket and flashed it on. “You said your trial will only last a week. We finish in Buenos Aires three days later. The Okavango is how far into the tour, Louis?”

“They arrive in Maun on day fifteen.” Louis leaned over to scrutinise the calendar app on Niall’s phone. “They’ll have two weeks off so they should leave on the 28th, meaning they’ll reach Maun on the 10th.”

“And we finish in Argentina on the 7th, so that’s plenty of time. We can fly directly there. Can’t we?”

“Maun has an international airport,” Louis agreed. 

Harry hadn’t thought of Louis returning to Africa. They’d tried to schedule a date for Niall in Cape Town or Johannesburg, but the timing hadn’t worked and although Harry never said so, he was relieved. But now, even worse, Niall wanted to take him literally back to overlanding. “We can’t just fly in for three days of the trip,” he interjected. “What if they’re fully booked?”

“They won’t be.” Louis sounded certain. 

At the same time Niall said, “If I message Liam right now, he’ll get it in Arusha tonight. He can check.”

“Good thinking, lad,” Louis grinned.

Harry looked at him, so bright and eager at the thought of returning to Africa. What if he remembered how much he loved camping and the African bush? 

“You don’t want to go, Haz?” Turning away from Niall who was enthusiastically typing out a message to Liam, Louis reached for Harry’s hand. “Will you be too tired from your trial?”

Harry would be. Court was as exhausting as it was exhilarating, and he only averaged three or four hours a night of sleep in the weeks leading up to a big case. “You want to go?”

“How about this.” Louis plucked his beer bottle from his hand, set it down beside Niall’s, and took both of Harry’s hands in his. “We fly into Maun, join the others for the trip into the Okavango, then when we get back, you and I fly to Victoria Falls and we book a nice fancy hotel and spend the rest of however much time you can wrangle off belatedly celebrating our third anniversary. I wanted to take you somewhere after the tour. How does that sound?”

It sounded....like everything Harry could possibly desire. The Okavango and Victoria Falls were two of the places he most wanted to visit again properly with Louis, other than Zanzibar, but he was saving Zanzibar. “It won’t make you homesick?” he checked.

Louis shrugged. “It might. A little bit. I do miss Africa.”

Harry hated how much he hated hearing that. Of course Louis missed Africa; why wouldn’t he? 

“But I really like the thought of going back there with you. Sharing it this time with you. Properly with you.”

“Me too,” Harry whispered. He wasn’t going to lose Louis back to tour leading or overlanding, he knew that.

He knows that now, too, in the mokoro in the heart of the Okavango Delta. Louis is back from South America. He didn’t run off there. He actually complained last night about the tent and sleeping on the ground. 

Harry snuggles back into his arms. “You don’t have to imagine any more, Lou. We’re really here.”

*

They are. Louis still can’t believe it. Everything’s been so surreal since arriving at the campground last night that he wants to pinch himself. A tiny part of him is scared he’ll wake up three years ago, struggling to sleep in his tent in Maun because he can’t have Harry and about to have his life blown to bits the next day at Elephant Sands. 

How can this life really be his? With Harry and London and music and travelling the entire world, not just trudging up and down the southern half of Africa? A life where he gets to ride motorbikes in Thailand with Harry. Where he gets to visit all the European capitals and pretend to appreciate the great artworks and cathedrals as if he knew what he was looking at. Where he gets to surf in Sydney and Rio and Los Angeles, to climb Mount Fuji in Japan, and ride a camel in Dubai. Where he gets to bring his sisters and the twins to the O2 to hear Niall perform a number one love song that was written _about Louis_ , a song that blazed across Times Square, that Niall performed on television shows across the world, that he still can’t turn on the radio without hearing _._

A life where he gets to ride in a mokoro through the Okavango, instead of staying behind in Maun, holding Harry in his arms. Where he’ll take Harry to bed in their publicly shared tent tonight. And where they’ll go home to the flat they share in London next weekend. 

He knows from Harry’s video three years ago what to expect when they glide in to shore on one of the countless Okavango islands. Liam jumps out of the mokoro he’s sharing with Zayn ahead of them and pulls Louis’ and Harry’s mokoro firmly aground. 

“It’s so great to be back! I’ve missed this place!”

It was Niall’s brainwave that they organise for Liam and Zayn to join them in the Delta, at Niall’s expense. Louis offered to call the Southern Skies office, figuring they’d be more likely to say yes if the request came from him. 

Of course Michelle answered.

It was easier than he’d expected to talk to her. She and her bloke split up, Zayn had told Louis a year earlier. Louis surprised himself by feeling sad at the news. Neither Zayn nor Liam had told her about Harry. That was left for Louis to reveal. He didn’t need to include a sentence about “my boyfriend and I” to arrange the booking, but he slipped it in anyway.

The phone went silent. 

“Michelle?”

“Your—boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re _gay_ now?”

He didn’t like the way she said it. “Yup.” Bi, actually, but she didn’t deserve that much detail from him. 

“Well,” she said. “Maybe that explains a few things.”

Maybe it did, or maybe they were just horribly wrong for each other. “Maybe,” he granted her. “I didn’t know before.”

“Before?”

“Before we broke up. Before Harry.”

“Harry—wait, the Harry who was on your last tour? Liam’s friend?”

It was good to know that James kept the secret Harry was too panicked to hide on the trip from Arusha to Louis’ hospital bed in Nairobi. “Yeah, that Harry.”

She was quiet for a moment, probably processing. Possibly putting dates together and realising a few things. “I’m happy for you, Louis,” she said eventually. “I really am.”

And, true to her word, she organised for Liam and Zayn to be added to the Delta trip, and now here they are, all five of them, disembarking their mokoros in the Okavango together. 

“I might have sprung for this every time,” Zayn confides to Louis as they tramp through the trees looking for a good place to set up their tents, “if I’d known it was like this.”

Louis drops the two bags he grabbed from the mokoro while Harry shouldered their tent. “Lots of art inspiration?”

Zayn whistles, laying down his and Liam’s tent and leaning back against a tree. “Tell you what, I’m counting down to the Falls and four days off to paint.”

“I want one, yeah?” Surveying the spot where he dropped the bags and finding it satisfactory, Louis beckons Harry over. He looks up at Zayn. “I’m commissioning it. Whatever your asking price is these days.” 

Before he left Africa, Liam managed to set up a channel for Zayn to sell his art in London. Louis manages it on the UK end, and last year persuaded Zayn to use one of his weeks off in Cape Town to fly to London for a formal exhibition. Liam came too, Niall performed, and it was the first time the five of them had been together since Nairobi and Louis’ hospital room. Even Harry managed to arrange an entire evening away from work.

Niall’s performance garnered a lot of free publicity for the event and for Zayn, and Louis delights in keeping track of Zayn’s increasing success. There are rumblings of interest from the American market, and Liam is currently trying to talk Zayn into considering an exhibition in New York. Louis has it largely arranged already, but he knows Zayn needs time to psych himself up for another public appearance. He’s reluctantly agreed to several email and phone interviews, but he’s wary things might get too big for him to cope with.

“I sound like a right tosser, don’t I,” he joked on the phone with Louis a month ago, the last time Louis brought it up, “just assuming success like that.”

“People like your stuff, Zayn. It’s not arrogant to acknowledge that.”

“I had a nightmare about someone wanting me to do an interview on TV.”

“You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I promise you. You don’t even have to do this exhibition.”

Zayn fell quiet for a moment. “There’s part of me that wants to know. You know? If I can do it. If I’m good enough. I never even went to art school. I have no legitimacy as an artist.”

“But people buy your work,” Louis reminded him. 

Before, in Africa, he’d had no idea the insecurities Zayn harboured about his art. He didn’t know you were meant to go to art school for formal training to be accepted as a _true artist_ , and hadn’t realised Zayn would care about something like that. Zayn never appeared to give a shit what people thought about him, but Louis was realising the appearance hid a very deep insecurity. 

“You _are_ good enough, Zayn,” he declared, “and if you decide to go ahead with this, a lot more people will agree. But it’s up to you. And don’t let Liam bully you into it!”

Zayn laughed then, and he laughs now. “I’ll give you a painting for free,” he says. “It can be your fee for arranging the exhibition in New York.”

Arriving in time to hear the end of Zayn’s sentence, Harry sets down his armful of tent and poles, and beams. “So you’re doing it?”

Zayn grins back. “I’m doing it. I wanted to tell you guys in person.”

“That’s fantastic!” Harry throws his arms around Zayn, nearly knocking him off the tree he’s leaning against. “I want a new piece of yours for my mother’s birthday next year. I was going to ask you about it, but now I’ll wait to buy one at the exhibition.”

When Harry releases Zayn, Louis leans forward to high-five him. “Zayn’s giving us a commissioned piece as my fee,” he tells Harry. “I asked him for the Okavango, now he’s finally seen it.”

Apparently that requires another celebratory hug from Harry. Zayn pats him gamely on the back. “I’ll do one for your mum too. You don’t need to buy it.”

“Of course I do. But do some of the Okavango for New York too, because that’s a really great idea.”

If Harry flung himself at anyone else like that, Louis might have a few things to say, but these are his two best friends, the two men he loves most in the world, and his heart feels like it wants to burst with happiness because he’s with both of them again. 

“Is this where we are?” Niall bursts through the trees, tent over his shoulder. This time he’s the one with a tent to himself. “Liam says lunch will be ready in half an hour. Harry, you’re not allowed to help.”

Louis laughs at the offended look on Harry’s face. “You can put our tent up,” he says, giving Harry’s arm a quick squeeze, “if you want something to do. I’ll help Niall.”

Harry turns his offended look on Louis. “I’m not your personal tent-putter-upper.”

“’Course you are. You’re much better than me at making us a home.” 

It’s true that Harry turned their tiny studio flat into a lovely home for them both, and he took a whole week off work when they moved to their current, much larger, flat last year to decorate it fully to his specifications, which include draped fairy lights and scented candles and some truly shocking artwork, all of which Louis loves, much to his own surprise. 

Harry acknowledges that with a wry twist to his mouth. “One day,” he mutters, turning to up-end his tent bag, “just one day, I’d like to see you not have an answer for something.”

That day will never come. To apologise for it, Louis swoops over and drops a kiss on the small of Harry’s back where his t-shirt’s ridden up as he bends to shake out the tent. When Harry tries to stand, Louis holds him down, his hand gently resting between his shoulder blades. 

_“Louis.”_

Louis kisses his spine again. “Tent-putter-uppers are well rewarded, baby. Mine are, at any rate.”

Dropping to his knees, Harry swivels so he can pull Louis down into his arms for a proper kiss. “You only have one. And he demands an advance payment.”

It would be easy to forget they’re sprawled in the dirt of the Okavango, since their surroundings always fade away once he gets his hands on Harry. Zayn’s voice, however, isn’t so easy to ignore.

“Are they still like this?”

“Trust me, mate,” Niall says, “this is nothing. This is them being discrete. You don’t want to know the things I’ve seen.”

There was a very unfortunate incident in his dressing room in Paris last summer that’s best not talked about. Harry didn’t mind so much, but Louis still winces at the memory of exactly how much Niall saw. So he disentangles himself from Harry and applies himself to helping Niall erect his tent. Tent erection, it turns out, is still ingrained in his muscle memory.

*

Last time he was in the Okavango, Harry remembers feeling cross and out of sorts with the world. This time he’s nearly mindless with exhaustion, but deeply content. 

“I can’t wait to try poling again,” Liam says enthusiastically during lunch. “It was so much fun last time, H, remember?”

Harry remembers covering himself with mud and humiliation. “I’m just gonna fall off.”

“Maybe you’re more coordinated now.”

“Doubt it.” Not when he feels like any second he’s going to tumble off the branch he’s balancing on. He hates to waste this precious time with Liam, but he honestly can’t keep his eyes open. He flew out of Heathrow the evening his trial finished, thanks to it overrunning by five days. Although he passed out on the overnight flight, the excitement of being reunited with Louis kept him up most of last night and now he’s crashing. Badly. “Think I need to sleep.”

Liam evaluates him. “Do trials always take it out of you like this?”

“Luckily I don’t do too many.” He’s glad he’s not a barrister, because then his life would consist of nothing but trials, but his responsibilities include ensuring the barristers have all the accurate information they require to argue the case successfully, and it’s up to him to make sure they have every shred of evidence that exists because you never know which fragment will be the turning point in front of the judge. “I love it, though.”

“Yeah? So it was the right choice?”

He still has a long way to go to reach where he wants to be, but he’s certain it’s where he belongs. “Definitely. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“I’m glad.” Putting down his sandwich, Liam reaches across to pat Harry on the back. “I’ve been worrying. You always sound so tired.”

“Lou makes sure I take time off.” 

If it was left to him, he’d get so caught up in the fascination of it all that he might work himself to dangerous levels, but Louis will have none of that. In return, he’s Louis’ sounding board for ideas and strategies and plans. He’s enjoyed experimenting to find the best ways to help Louis relax when he’s under pressure. When Louis is home, Harry insists on giving him at least one full body massage a week. Occasionally he protests, worrying about Harry not having enough time or insisting he should return the favour, but massaging Louis is one of Harry’s own relaxation strategies. It feels like he’s working the tension out of his own body as each of Louis’ tight muscles soften and loosen, and of course, both of them always get happy endings. 

Maybe that’s what they can do this afternoon while they have the camp largely to themselves. Louis is also crashing, the constant adrenalin of an exciting world tour abruptly over. That often triggers a headache for him, and that’s the last thing Harry wants. 

He glances across the clearing. Louis is at the table with Niall and two teenage girls who look like ardent fans of his. Whoops. They’d known that was a possibility, but Niall shrugged it off and said if he ended up on the island with particularly devoted fans, he’d deal with it when it happened. Looks more like Louis is dealing with it, ably deflecting their attention away from Niall by questioning them about something. From this distance, Harry can’t hear what. Probably asking them if they attended any of Niall’s shows on tour, he guesses. 

“I’m going to propose,” he tells Liam, eyes still on Louis. “At the Falls.”

“Oh, H.”

“Don’t hug me!” He returns his attention to Liam, pushing him back down onto his fold-out chair. “It’s a surprise and I don’t want Louis to get suspicious.”

Liam’s beaming, which is a relief. He’d been half afraid Liam might disapprove, tell him he’s too young. “When did you decide?”

“In Thailand when we planned this trip.” He lets himself smile too, keeping half an eye on Louis, who is still busy with the girls. “I’ve known for a while that I want this. Well, if I’m honest, I’ve wanted this since last time we were in Botswana, but I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to be his, want him to be mine.”

“Where do you want to get married?”

Harry shrugs. “Don’t care where. I just want it to happen, then I’m taking him to Zanzibar for our honeymoon.”

“Seriously?”

He’s thought a lot about this. “Last time we were there, I didn’t really see much. All I saw was Louis.”

“And you think that’ll somehow be different if you go there on honeymoon?” Liam’s grin turns into a smirk.

Harry smacks him. “This time I won’t be thinking that I only have a few days left with him.”

“That’s true.”

“We can get married in Cape Town, maybe, because we want you and Zayn there.” He’s talking like they’ve already discussed it, which they haven’t, but he knows without needing to ask Louis. 

“Or I can talk Zayn into another exhibition in London and we can combine the two.”

“Very efficient.” Harry notices that Zayn has shepherded Niall away from the overenthusiastic fans, finding a protected corner for them to finish their sandwiches. “He told us he’s doing New York.”

Liam follows Harry’s gaze, and his face softens. “I’m so proud of him, H. I know it’s not easy for him, and he’s come so far. I’ve tried very hard not to push. But I’d be proud of him anyway, even if he never exhibited his paintings at all, you know? I hope he knows that.”

“He does.” Harry and Zayn email occasionally. Mostly about Liam and Louis. Mostly when they’re not sure what to do and need to consult their partner’s best friend. “He’s proud of you too. He knows what a change it was for you, moving to Africa and tour leading.”

Liam grimaces. “Couldn’t have done it without him.”

“But it’s been worth it?”

“Wouldn’t change it for the world.”

That’s what Harry wanted to hear. “Any chance we should plan on making it a double wedding?”

To his delight, Liam gives him a coy grin. “I wouldn’t rule that out.”

“What aren’t you ruling out?” Louis bounces to a halt in front of them, sandwich in his hand but no plate in sight. “D’you think Niall will kill me for promising a free gig tonight?”

“Wasn’t he going to sing tonight anyway?” Harry asks. “There’s always singing in the Okavango.” He turns to Liam. “Or has that changed?”

“Still going as far as I know. I also figured he’d sing tonight.”

“All his songs.” Louis plops down onto a rock at Harry’s feet. “The full show.”

“I can sing with him,” Harry offers, “if he gets tired. It would be fun.” He can’t remember the last time he sang with Niall. He only gets to sing in the shower these days and he misses it. 

“That might cheer him up. Thanks, Haz. So, what are we talking about?”

Harry’s certainly not bringing up weddings. “I was telling Li that I’m too tired to try poling again.” He evaluates Louis, who is paler than he should be, given his day out surfing in the Brazilian sun last week. The bruises under his eyes are brutal, and Harry’s not having that. “I thought we could rest.”

“Rest?”

“In the tent. You and me. While everyone’s out learning how to pole.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Good thinking, love.”

Since the day Harry asked him not to call anyone else _love_ in Zanzibar, Louis’ reserved it exclusively for him. Harry luxuriates in it every single time Louis says it. It reminds him how close he came to losing Louis, how resigned he was to never having him, and how lucky he is that fate didn’t deny them each other. 

*

It’s been three years. You’d think he’d be used to Harry by now. After all, they got to know each other in abnormal circumstances, stripped of privacy and artifice. There was no formal period of dating on their best behaviour, always trying to make a positive impression. Instead there was naked sharing of a torch to guard against cockroaches in the desert; there were headaches and airsickness and malaria; there was crying about lost families and unfaithful girlfriends and rejected kisses (Louis), and panicking about how to cope with impoverished townships and crime-ridden cities and wild animals in the night (Harry). 

After you’ve nearly died in someone’s arms, intimacy is inevitable. 

But he’s still overwhelmed sometimes by how well Harry reads him and provides for him. It can be hard to accept that he deserves this, to be loved like this, so entirely, unreservedly.

The relief of Harry’s hands on his bare skin makes him want to weep. 

“I did another course,” Harry confesses, his voice a soft rumble so as not to disturb anyone else who might be whiling away the sultry afternoon in the camp. “It was about pressure points, specifically aimed at where to focus to counteract and prevent headaches.”

In the midst of the intense pressure of preparing for his trial, Harry was thinking about how to care for Louis. “There was an entire course about preventing headaches?” he says, using his most sceptical voice because that’s preferable to letting Harry hear how overwhelmed he is yet again. 

“It was only a weekend course.” Harry sounds regretful, like the brevity makes it less valuable. “It was seven hours a day and I learned so much, Lou. I’ve been dying to get you under my hands again so I could practise.”

Practise. As though they’re doing this for Harry’s benefit. Louis moans, trying to consciously relax the muscle Harry’s digging his thumb into instead of instinctively flinching against it. “Did they tell you to do it this hard? Aren’t massages meant to be relaxing?”

“Sensual massages are.” Harry digs harder. “I watched a YouTube about them, and I want to try that too. That’s why I brought the oil. When we get to the Falls and I have you on a soft, fancy bed, and you can be fully naked and I can touch you everywhere I want.”

Louis zipped their tent windows closed, even though a breeze would be welcome, trying to provide as much privacy as he could for this. He’s still wearing his shorts, but that can be remedied. “You can touch me everywhere now, you know.”

“Fixing you first,” Harry says sternly.

That’s been another repercussion of Louis nearly dying: Harry’s obsession with fixing him. Louis understands how helpless he felt in the wilds of the Serengeti. It manifested in nightmares for months afterwards, where Harry would wake sobbing and frantic, repeating what Louis vaguely remembers him saying in the midst of it: “I can’t fix you, I can’t fix you!” 

The best way to deal with it is to let Harry take care of him, fill whatever need Harry perceives he has. It’s nice. Louis definitely isn’t opposed to it. It helps remind him to take care of himself when he’s away from Harry in ways he might not bother to otherwise, because him looking unwell or tired or depleted in any way tends to be a trigger for Harry. 

It’s also a useful weapon to wield when Harry resists Louis’ attempts to take care of him in return. “You do it for me and I do it for you,” Louis has repeated on numerous occasions. “We share that, Haz.”

He likes the sound of sensual massage. Maybe Harry can teach him what he learned. It would be fun to map the muscles of Harry’s body, easing and relaxing him at the same time as turning him on. 

“Don’t use too much oil now,” he advises, “since we can’t shower out here.”

“I brought an extra five litres of water.” Harry bats his hand away. “I remember last time how sticky and sweaty I got. I’ll pour it over you and you can pour it over me. We can find a secluded bush or something.”

Louis likes the sound of that. Given that their toilet is a hole dug behind some trees, an outdoor shower sounds appropriate. “That means you can get me very sticky and sweaty then,” he says, lowering his voice to the husky purr that he knows gets Harry going. 

Harry’s perched over his legs, working on Louis’ lower back, and he lifts one hand away from its hard work and slaps it down over Louis’ bum. “Sensual massage is for Victoria Falls, Lou. I just told you.”

Louis tilts his head where it’s resting on his hands so he can see Harry’s flushed face. “Given you’re poking away at me so much now, it’s not unreasonable for me to assume there’ll be some other kind of poking going on too.”

As he’d hoped, Harry convulses with scandalised laughter. “We’re virtually in public!”

“That’s never stopped you.”

“This is different. Liam has to work with these people for the next month.”

But Louis knows his boy, and he thrusts his bum up between Harry’s legs. “Put those strong fingers of yours to use then, at least. If you do that, I’ll let you come on me and won’t clean it off before we go for our game-viewing walk later.”

The laughter fades from Harry’s face. He has a weakness for knowing Louis is walking around with Harry’s come smeared across his skin beneath his clothes. “You’re a menace. You know that?”

“Your menace, though.”

“Always.” Harry leans down, bracing his hands on either side of Louis’ waist, for a slow, hot kiss. 

Louis lets it go on for longer than they really have time for, because it feels so rejuvenating to be kissed by Harry again. He pulls away when his neck starts to hurt from the strain of being angled almost backwards. “Now finger me and come on me so we can sleep.”

Harry chokes on his laughter and does just that.

*

If he’s honest, Harry isn’t very keen on the thought of heading out into the interior of the island on foot. He remembers last time too vividly, all the warnings about what to do if encountering a wild animal too close. He didn’t love it then, and that was before that nightmarish night in the Serengeti. 

Most of the time he keeps that memory locked away at the very back of his mind. He wonders, kind of curiously, just how much time of having Louis happy and healthy at his side is required before he can cope with remembering the hideous terror of that night. Sometimes it feels impossible that he was actually that scared, but then something will trigger a nightmare and he’ll be plunged back into it and realise his mind has dimmed the true horror of it in his memory. 

He really doesn’t want to put Louis in harm’s way again. 

To his credit, Louis doesn’t laugh at him. He stands there with his khaki shorts and green t-shirt covering up the signs of Harry on his body, blinking gentle eyes that echo the expansive African sky, and says earnestly, “We can stay in camp if you prefer, Haz.”

“I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly. You were traumatised. I get it.”

“But you’re fine now. You’re safe. We’re both safe.” So why does Harry feel like he’s about to burst into tears? 

“It’s okay, babe.” Louis pulls him into a tight hug, ignoring the curious faces of Liam’s passengers as they tramp past them away from the river towards the interior. “If you don’t feel up to it, we can stay. Get some more sleep.”

Harry can’t bear feeling like such a wimp. Tourists come here all the time, thousands of them. If any of them got eaten, they wouldn’t allow them to gallivant around at sunset like this. 

“You okay, H?” Niall stops beside them. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

No. Louis was. Louis was sick and they were trapped with wild animals and Harry doesn’t know how to deal with himself. “Lions,” is all he manages to say.

“There are lions? Where?”

Harry presses his face into Louis’ neck. Any minute now he can stop shaking, thanks.

“There are no lions,” Louis says over his head to Niall. “I mean, well, there are, but not right here. At least I don’t think so. Probably not right next to the water.”

“Fun fact,” Niall says. “The lions of the Okavango have taught themselves how to swim so they can pursue their prey through all the water here.”

Harry shudders violently.

Louis curses. “Thank you, Niall, I didn’t really want to know that right now.”

“It’s cool, though.”

That’s it, Harry thinks. It _is_ cool, and normally such a fact would delight him. He’s not going to let fear ruin this for him. Not going to let fear ruin any of this amazing trip that most people don’t get to experience once in their lifetime, let alone twice. If Louis could go back to England and face his family, if Niall can go out on stage in front of tens of thousands of people and perform live on television to millions, if Liam can forge a new life leading people across Africa and if Zayn is able to show up at exhibitions not only in London but in New York as well, then Harry can face down swimming lions. 

“Very cool, Niall.” He clings to Louis for a final moment, then straightens up and lets go. “Come on, guys. We don’t want to lose the others. Let’s go see the animals!”

They catch up to the group who have paused to receive their wild animal safety briefing. Harry remembers it vividly. Lion—direct eye contact, back away slowly. Leopard—no eye contact and freeze. Elephant—freeze and don’t turn your back. Buffalo—run and climb a tree. Hippo—avoid outright. 

“In all my years,” Louis whispers in his ear, “not a single one of my passengers who came here had a close encounter with any of these animals. Nor did passengers of any other tour leaders I knew.”

Harry nods as though that means something to him. He knows his fear is irrational. 

Thank fuck homosexuality is legal in Botswana now, though, because once his hand clamps down around Louis’, there’s no way he’s letting go. 

Louis looks like he’s in his element, tramping around this random island in the middle of the Okavango Delta. Niall joins them, his frequent glances at Harry confirming that he knows something’s up, and Louis keeps himself safe between them, always making sure Harry’s on one side of him and Niall on the other. Harry mentally apologises to Niall for exposing him to greater danger, but he’s too grateful for what Louis’ doing to stop him. 

Same as last time, they see very few animals, and none close by. Liam goes into raptures about some bird or other. Apparently he’s taken up studying them and has spreadsheets and graphs and a list of goal birds to spot, and today’s is on that list. Zayn pulls out the sketchpad he keeps in his pocket and stands unabashedly drawing Liam as Liam watches the birds.

“Will you draw me and Louis?” Harry asks when they head back through a fiery sunset towards their makeshift camp. “At the Falls. On Knife Edge Bridge.” 

While Louis, Harry and Niall plan to fly directly to Livingstone on Sunday (with Harry risking another scenic flight over the Okavango tomorrow, this time with Louis beside him and making sure to hydrate sufficiently beforehand), Liam and Zayn will arrive on Wednesday with their passengers. Harry can stay until next Sunday, so that gives them Liam and Zayn’s entire break together. 

“You want me to draw you on the bridge?”

Harry’s already checked, and after several scarily dry years of drought, the Zambezi is in flood again. He wants to recreate the scene from three years ago of him and Louis dashing shirtless across the bridge, only this time with them stopping to kiss halfway along. Livingstone is where they should have had their first kiss, where they almost did. And the Falls is where he first persuaded Louis to join him. He remembers howling into the ferocity of the Falls and watching Louis scream beside him. All his life, Harry felt slightly displaced from the world around him, like something was wrong, something was missing, and he remembers looking at Louis through the wild spray and feeling everything shift into rightness. 

“Yeah. Kissing.”

“You want me to draw you kissing Louis on a bridge over Victoria Falls.”

“It’s not over the Falls so much as kind of next to it, really. I’ll pay for this one too.”

Zayn knocks Harry’s cap off his head. “I don’t charge anyone for my sketches, Harry.”

“So?” Harry motions for Louis and Niall to go on ahead since they’re within sight of their camp now, and darts back to pick up his cap, which blew into a tuft of golden grass. Zayn patiently waits for him to retrieve it. “This one’s special. It’ll be a gift for Louis.”

“Don’t you think he’ll notice me drawing?”

“He can notice. It’s fine. He’ll know by then.”

“Know?”

Oh. Zayn is Louis’ closest friend. Harry’s already spoken to Amy about this, but he supposes it’s only right that he clears it with Zayn too. He slows down to make sure Louis is out of earshot. “Remember that afternoon in Harare? You sent Louis off with me on our first date and said you felt like a dad?”

Zayn stops dead. “Harry Styles. Are you by any chance asking me for Louis’ hand in marriage?”

Harry stops too. “Um. Kind of. Yes?”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

“I suppose the sketch is a wedding present then?”

“If you’ll do it.”

“Of course I’ll do it. But I’ll do it for free, as my wedding present to you. All right?”

“That’s very all right.” Harry wants to hug him, but Zayn isn’t touchy-feely with Louis or even Liam, and he’s already forced two hugs on Zayn today. “Can I say something, Zayn?”

“Sure.”

“I wanted to thank you. For looking after Louis. You know, all those years you were with him. He’s told me a bit about what a bad place he was in emotionally, and you really helped him.”

Zayn’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “You know I love Louis, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And you know I’ll fuck you up if you do anything to hurt him.”

“Of course. I’d want you to. Not that I ever will. But if I did, for sure.”

“We’re even on the thanks, mate.”

Harry understands. “Even though I took him away from you?”

“Ah.” Zayn looks ahead to where torches are coming on and the fire of the camp glitters between the trees. “You brought me Liam. I’d say we’re even on that, too.”

“You know I’ll fuck _you_ up if you do anything to hurt _him?”_

This time Zayn doesn’t hide his grin. “I’d want you to, too.”

Good. Harry holds out his fist for a bump, pleased when Zayn reciprocates. They start walking again, curving around the bushes that hide the toilet they dug this morning. “Now we just need to sort Niall out.”

“What happened to that American he was seeing?”

“Who? Oh, Alicia? That didn’t happen in the end. He wrote his third album about her, though, and got his second biggest hit out of it.”

“Second biggest? What’s the first?”

“The one I wrote about Louis, of course.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Oh, of course.”

*

Niall agrees to the concert. Louis explains to the local crew that they have an honest-to-God popstar in their midst so he’ll take care of the evening singing. They don’t look at all disappointed. To Louis’ surprise, Niall’s quite enthusiastic. He even excuses himself during dinner to go off and warm up his voice. 

“You sure you don’t mind?” Louis double-checks while Liam speeds everyone through dish washing. “Harry said he’ll fill in for bits if you want him to.”

Niall looks up from tuning his guitar. “I already agreed with him which song he’s singing.”

“Just one?”

“Doing harmony for some others. Go find a good place to sit, Louis, I’m fine.” His grin flashes in the darkness. “How many people can say they’ve played the Okavango twice?”

They sit at the front, him and Harry, so Harry can join in when required. It feels strange for Louis not to be in charge, not to be worrying about the fifteen other passengers. He hasn’t learned a single name, not even of Niall’s two fans. They’re sitting on the other side of Niall, already rapt and glowing, giggling to each other with glee that they’re about to watch their idol perform a secret concert in the wilderness. 

Louis casts a practised eye over the rest. No one seems restless. Liam told him during dinner that almost everyone has heard of Niall and claimed to know some of his music. The only one who hasn’t is a remote-looking redhead who’s perched on a rock near the back of the group. She’s the kind Louis used to wonder why they came on the trip, who never seemed at ease with group travel and roughing it with tents. She hasn’t complained, not today at least, but she hasn’t seemed connected to anyone either. It’s a shame she’s not into Niall, because then this could’ve been a little reward for her for sticking it out and persisting with the kind of trip she clearly isn’t comfortable with.

“Lou?” Harry nudges him in the ribs. “Can I sit in front of you?”

“What, so you can block my view?”

“No! So I can lean back against you. You feel too far away over there.”

“What do you mean, ‘over there’? I’m right beside you.” But Louis shuffles backwards on the sand and spreads his legs. “Come here, baby.”

He knows Harry isn’t comfortable with this trip either. He probably should’ve expected something like this, but Harry’s largely hid his remnants of trauma and in Thailand he didn’t say a word against Niall’s idea of returning to Africa. It doesn’t only haunt him in his dreams, clearly. 

He settles Harry securely against him, locking his arms around Harry’s stomach and crowding him a little with his legs. Harry likes to be surrounded by Louis. Maybe this is good, coming back. Maybe it’s helping Harry deal with what he’s evidently been repressing. Louis will do whatever he can to aid the process.

Zayn and Liam drop down into Harry’s empty space. “Thought we’d come join you,” Liam says. “I haven’t seen Niall do a whole show since I came to Africa.”

The old Louis would have cringed a bit, fearing that Liam might judge he hasn’t done a good enough job of replacing him. “He’s good,” he says instead. “I always think he does his best performances at the small acoustic shows, but one day you have to see one of the big ones.”

“Schedule my exhibition for whenever he plays New York again,” Zayn suggests. “Madison Square Garden!”

Niall hasn’t performed there yet. It’s on Louis’ list for the next tour, given how successful this one was. He’s excited for it himself. “Done.”

On the makeshift stage, which is a cleared spot directly in front of the fire so people can see him, Niall starts to strum. 

“You’re not filming this?” Liam asks in a whisper.

Louis considered it. “His two fans over there are.” He gestures at them, their cameras already out and ready. “They can have the glory. They asked permission, so I figured they deserve the exclusive.”

Niall’s fans will go nuts. Louis views it as a nice little thank you for all their support across the world during the tour. 

“Shh,” Harry orders. “He’s starting.”

Niall opens with the song he and Louis still call _The Desert Song_ , even though its official title is _Empty Heart_. It’s one of Louis’ favourites of his, the one he first heard Harry sing in Swakopmund, trying to work out the accompaniment on the piano at Young Ones. No matter how many times Louis hears it, no matter which country in the world he’s in, it always conjures up the first day he spent entirely with Harry, when he was falling in love without realising it. The lyrics have nothing to do with the way the song makes him feel, so he doesn’t listen to them, just closes his eyes and lets the music and memories wash over him. They hit differently, hearing them back in Africa around a fire in the wild. 

At the end, he kisses Harry’s tangled hair. His curls are much shorter these days, but they’ve leapt into gleeful life in the Okavango’s humidity, and Harry brought no products to try to tame them the way he does in London. Louis loves it. 

“I was so scared you were going to send me away that day.” Harry turns his head so he can murmur directly into Louis’ ear, obviously thinking about Swakopmund as well. “I should have known then that I was falling in love.”

“Of course you were,” Louis murmurs back. “I’m irresistible, Haz.”

“You are.” Harry presses a kiss against his cheek. “I certainly couldn’t resist.”

“Good.” Louis allows himself a single brush of Harry’s lips with his. “Now listen to this one. He’s completely changed the acoustic version.”

Niall’s second song is from his third album, which he decided to largely write by himself. Harry and Liam, and even Louis, helped him finalise the songs, refining and developing them, but the ideas are all his, as are most of the lyrics. Louis is fiercely proud of how well it’s done. They’re not as whimsical as Harry’s songs, not as flashy as Liam’s, but they’re emotional and honest and real, and Louis loves that the public appreciated that so much.

Niall admitted once, as he and Louis explored the jagged stones of the Great Wall of China after his show in Beijing at the start of the year, that he found the courage to take such a risk from the success of his anthemic _There’s Life_ , a song Louis hadn’t known at the time he wrote in Namibia after their desert walk introduced him to the largely unseen wildlife of the desert. These days it’s the song he ends his shows with, a soaring triumphant climax, and Louis’ looking forward to his rendition of it here tonight.

As the show goes on, the crowd responds well, Louis evaluates. No one looks bored. Even the redhead is paying attention. His two fans are in ecstasy, and Louis can’t wait to see the way they present tonight on social media. Harry casually snaps a few photos that Louis can use for Niall’s Instagram, but then it’s time for him to join in the performance.

“This next song was written by one of my best mates, Harry Styles,” Niall announces, motioning at Harry to get up. “He wrote it on our first trip to Africa three years ago, in Namibia, which you lot just visited. I’ll never forget the first time he played it for me. We were here, back in Maun, the day before we came out to the Okavango. It was just him and me at the campsite, since most people had gone into town for last-minute purchases. We were sitting in the doorways of our tents opposite each other, working through bits and pieces we’d been writing, and suddenly he asked if he could have my guitar. I handed it over and he fiddled around a bit, experimenting with chords, then he started to sing. H, come up here. I want our audience to hear it exactly as you sang it to me that afternoon.”

With a squeeze of Louis’ hand, Harry bounds up. “Hi, everyone.” He gives a little wave. “My name is Harry, and I’m one of Niall’s writers. I hope you don’t mind that he’s asked me to sing this song tonight, instead of him.” Taking the proffered guitar from Niall, he slips the strap over his head and adjusts it. “This is a special song for me. When you go to Africa on an overland journey, you don’t expect the first person you meet to turn out to be your soulmate.” He settles down on the rock Niall’s been using and turns his head to gaze at Louis. “However, that’s exactly what happened to me. Ten days into our trip, I wrote this song. This is _If You Loved Me.”_

Louis loves listening to Niall perform his song. It’s a slow, romantic ballad, comes during a pause between more upbeat songs, and if he’s at the venue Louis always makes sure he’s available to listen when Niall reaches it. He’s never heard Harry perform it before.

The intro is familiar. Harry’s deep voice, when he begins, is not.

_"You should’ve been a stranger_

_But I felt like I always missed you_

_Now I should be in danger_

_But it feels like I’m always part of you.”_

His voice soars up.

_“Never wanna lose you, honey_

_Don’t make me leave you_

_Don’t run away_

_Always gonna want you, honey_

_Please hold me_

_Let me stay.”_

It overwhelms Louis that this is how Harry felt about him so early on. Harry gives him a soft smile as he gears up for the second part of the chorus.

_“Let me drown in your ocean eyes_

_Let me fall to my knees_

_And give you everything_

_Let me dance in your warmth all night_

_Because if you loved me_

_I would be all yours_

_I would be all yours.”_

He asked Harry once about the title, _If You Loved Me_ , where he’d got the idea from. To his surprise, Harry blushed. “Don’t make me tell you.”

Of course then Louis had to know.

“You remember that night we showered together with the torch in the desert?” Harry was still bright red, trying to hide his face. “And I said to you at the end something about would you get fired if you fucked me? I was actually writing about that.”

“What, about me fucking you?”

“Yeah. That was, um, the original title actually. But then I got thinking. It wasn’t just about sex, not for me. I didn’t just want that from you. I wanted you to love me. I knew you couldn’t,” he hastened to add. “I knew you were with Michelle, that this was just a fantasy, but I needed to write it all out because I felt it so strongly that I was scared to be around you in case I gave it away.”

Now, Harry’s eyes drift closed as he moves on to the second verse.

_"This was always coming_

_Every breathless moment was a sign_

_There’s no point in running_

_All I am is yours, if you’ll be mine.”_

Niall joins in, harmonising for the repetition of the chorus, but all Louis can see is Harry.

_"Never wanna lose you, honey_

_Don’t make me leave you_

_Don’t run away_

_Always gonna want you, honey_

_Please hold me_

_Let me stay_

_Let me drown in your ocean eyes_

_Let me fall to my knees_

_And give you everything_

_Let me dance in your warmth all night_

_Because if you loved me…”_

Niall fades away, letting Harry take the bridge on his own.

_"If you love me…_

_I’ll be your home and you’ll be mine_

_Be your guiding star and you’ll be mine_

_I’ll take half your heart and give you mine_

_Be forever yours like you’ll be mine.”_

_Yes,_ Louis thinks. He wants all of that.

He has it. 

Harry’s voice drops for the hauntingly emotional end to the song.

_“Let me drown in your ocean eyes_

_Let me fall to my knees_

_And give you everything_

_Let me dance in your warmth all night_

_Because if you love me_

_I will be all yours_

_I will be all yours_

_I will be all yours.”_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stranger Stars (Italian Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25336618) by [Sweet_CreatureHL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweet_CreatureHL/pseuds/Sweet_CreatureHL)




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